How to Carry On
by CadyD
Summary: Toby leaves the Demon Barber alive out of hatred, so's he can brood upon accidentally killing his wife. This, however, pulls him onto a life threatening quest that he hadn't seen coming. And what of Johanna?
1. A Night She Never Heard Of

**Yeah, I know; I seem to come up with new plans on each update. But..I really just couldn't help myself with this. I just _had_ to make a Sweeney Todd fanfiction! I'll continue with "Said and Done" though right up next, I promise. I already have the first and second chapters for this typed up, so if people like this story, I'll post the next two.**** A thing or two you need to know about this though:**

**Apart from the prologue here, this story takes place after Sweeney kills Mrs. Lovett. So, she's not alive in this story (doesn't mean I can't still make her appear..). So, don't _not _read because of that. I wouldn't fully leave her out anyway! She does take a part in the story, as I'm currently planning it, anyway...**

**Also, yes, it takes place after the movie (you probably already knew that), except Toby doesn't kill Sweeney. Like, he is just as mad, except his good and innocent personality still stayed pretty in-tact. So...*breathes*..here's the prologue. I talk too much.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Night sent darker-than-usual shadows into the pie shop, it being empty of activity and closed for the day. Within the parlor, the cannibalistic baker known to many as Mrs. Lovett had passed out on a recliner next to the fireplace after an exhausting day, an opened book resting on her lap. She had sent Toby to bed only a little while ago without a worry, and Mr. Todd retreated back into his shop after a brief and snappy argument about the boy. It was a rather brutal disagreement, and Mrs. Lovett hadn't expected to get to sleep after what happened; Toby had almost discovered <em>the secret<em>, the secret that, if found out about, would send both the barber and the baker into execution without a second thought. Though she knew Toby wouldn't run straight to the law, Nellie still didn't want the boy to know of anything about the terrible things that she somehow felt she was forced to do. His view on her would change forever...

Nonetheless, the day had passed and not a soul was informed of this. That was enough for the baker...at least for now.

She had fallen asleep peacefully.

Little did she know that Toby hadn't stayed in bed, and that her two favorite boys were upstairs, wide awake, and at it yet _again_...

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><p>"This is the last straw, boy."<p>

Sweeney had Toby pinned against the wall of his tonsorial parlor, using only one hand to hold him down by the chest while using the other to press one of his precious razors to the boy's throat.

"I-I-I'm s-sorry, sir, it-it w-won'-"

"Enough of your stuttering," Sweeney growled rather irritably, already cutting him off and pressing the blade closer. "Why'd you come here? It's not like you visit every day unless you have to."

Toby tried his best to blink the fear out of his eyes, not to mention developing tears. "Well...well..M-Mum always says to face our fears if they're eatin' us alive." He shyly glanced down as far as he could before the barber's hand abrubtly stopped his head from moving down any further. He no longer wanted to stare into the demon's gaze. It was simply too frightening.

Sweeney narrowed his cold, dark eyes at the feel of the boy's rapid heartbeat under his hand. He let out a contemptuous grunt before moving away, pulling the razor with him. Toby glanced back up in surprise. Maybe if the barber knew how much he was frightening the young boy, he'd stop being...well, of course, that'd stop him from being himself. Toby seriously doubted it though, and he watched fearfully as Sweeney turned his back on him and walked back over to the window, razor still in hand. Toby was too afraid to move, not entirely sure whether or not this was his que to leave. The barber did perfer to be alone at the best of times, after all...

But Sweeney didn't mutter the usual 'get out', the command that would normally rise in tone if the reciever of the message didn't do as he said. He merely gazed out the window with an unreadable expression on his face.

Toby tilted his head in confusion; _'E just pressed a razor to my neck, and now 'e's just gonna ignore me an' pretend like nothin' 'appened?_

"You fear me." Sweeney said suddenly, catching Toby off-guard. He didn't word it exactly like a question. It was more like a statement. But Toby could picture the faint question-mark at the end, only slightly. The barber obviously didn't want to give away the fact that he was asking out of curiosity, and for no reason that would really effectively benefit him.

Toby shrugged awkwardly, finding it difficult to find the right words. "I..I'd be lying if I said you didn't, sir." He glanced up uneasily, adding out of haste, "I think you might scare Mum a bit too, sometimes."

Sweeney remained silent, almost acting as though Toby hadn't spoken. He murmured quietly after a while, "Don' waste your petty fears and worries on me." without even turning around.

"W-what?" Toby blinked, not believing his ears for a moment.

"You heard me." Sweeney growled, turning back around finally to continue onward with a icy glare. Toby took another fearful step back. How could he worry about being murdered by anyone else but Sweeney Todd? Did the barber honestly stop to take a look at himself every now and then?

_What could'ave possibly driven 'im to this? _

Toby had wondered this from the very moment Sweeney seemed suspicious..and rather deadly. It was going to take courage to word this question aloud. Though it was something the boy was planning on doing tonight, he couldn't find himself doing it now.

Not now.

Especially not when Sweeney advanced on him again. Toby let out a high-pitched squeak of fear and quickly bolted for the door, but the demon barber stopped him in his tracks by grabbing him by the back of the collar on his shirt without much of an effort at all. Before Toby could scream, Sweeney shoved him against the wall again, hissing the words, "Shut up." through gritted teeth.

"P-please, sir, jus'-jus' let me go...I-I p-promise I won' tell Mum you-"

"What would Mrs. Lovett do to me?" Sweeney sneered.

As scared as Toby was, he was surprised to find that Mr. Todd wasn't holding the razor up this time. It was down at his side. Though he was still only using one hand to keep Toby in place.

"W-why..why do you..." Toby tried hard to get the words out, but it was far too difficult.

"What?" Came the harsh reply.

"...why do you...act like you want to..._kill_...?" It felt weird coming off his tongue.

Sweeney straightened a bit at this question, eyeing the young boy in confusion. He was at loss for words for a moment; how in the world did he answer that? This boy had no business asking such a personal question. But then again...Toby wouldn't know it _was_ a personal question. He wasn't at much of an age to act that considerate yet anyway.

_I don't need him to be considerate. _Sweeney reminded himself bitterly. _What do I care?_

"All you need to know is that..no one really deserves to live in the end anyway." He muttered, pushing away from the wall without much thought of Toby anymore. The boy let out another small whimper of pain as Sweeney made his way across the room to stand at the window once more with his hands behind his back.

_Was that..._sadness_ in his voice? _

"Get out."

Toby was expecting that command, and he certainly didn't need to be told twice. Fleetingly, he raced for the door and quickly vanished into the dark night to run down the stairs in a frantic manner.

_"All you need to know is that..no one really deserves to live in the end anyway."_

Mr. Todd's voice rung in Toby's head for the rest of that night. What did the barber mean by that? Did he actually kill people to prove that point? Toby certainly hoped not. He and Mrs. Lovett would be in big trouble if that were true.

For some reason, however, Toby didn't want to share this with his adoptive mother. He was afraid it might scare her, as much as it did him.

So, this was a night Eleanor Lovett never heard of.

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><p><strong>Tell me what you think! Though this gives nothing away from the actual plot, this is sort of Toby and Sweeney learning something off each other. Showing that they'd be capable of a somewhat calm conversation without the suspiciouscontemptuous glares.**

**Anyway, if you like it, I'll post up the next one. (I'd really like to, even if I'm not sure of where the entire story is headed yet.) Review, please! :3**


	2. With A Ripped Sleeve And A Chore

**Oh, yes. I've changed the name of this story. It's still the same thing though, I assure you! **

**Carry on..**

**xD**

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><p>Mrs. Lovett's tormented screams rung around the bakehouse. It didn't make Sweeney Todd flinch in the least, however. It was all over. Once he locked the oven door, he turned back around to glare at Lucy. No...he didn't need to glare. A pained expression replaced the angered one. His Lucy..she was gone. All that time he could have spent with her. She had been alive all this time. How could the baker do that to him? How could she lie?<p>

Silently, the demon barber made his way over to his wife's body to mourn. He crouched down beside her after dropping his razor to the floor and lifted her into his arms, gently cradling her.

"Oh, Lucy," He murmured under his breath. "I'm so sorry."

Her face was still as beautiful as he remembered, even if dirty, with specks of blood here and there. It made Sweeney feel absolutely powerless, which he sadly was. Somewhere deep down, however, he knew that Lucy would never have been the same as he remembered even if she _did _live. The thought made tears come to his dark, empty eyes, but he quickly blinked them away; if he couldn't be strong now, he'd never be again.

It took a while after to realize what he did next.

He sang,

"_There was a barber and his wife..and she was beautiful."_

If he had started to cry, he wouldn't have realized. He was in too deep of an apparent trance.

"_A foolish barber and his wife. She was his reason and his life, and she was beautiful."  
><em>

A scraping noise from behind caught his attention, but only for an instant. He didn't care about anything else anymore.

"_And she was virtuous, and he was..."  
><em>

Sweeney stopped dead as a figure came to stand beside him. He noticed immediately, out of the corner of his eye, the gleaming silver of his razor. He only needed to take a brief side glance to know who it was.

"Toby." He muttered curtly.

The young boy's eyes were lit with anger.

"...Are you going to kill me with that?" Sweeney asked calmly after a moment, motioning towards the razor that was grasped tightly in Toby's hand.

The demon barber had to admit, death wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him now. In fact, he'd go as far as saying death might be a fun ride compared to this newly found shithole of a life of his.

But Toby didn't reply right away. He looked a tad more thoughtful now.

"Come now, boy," Sweeney fixed the kid with a stern glare. "a slit across the throat, and make it quick. That's all I ask of you." He looked back down at Lucy's body. _I'll be with you soon, my love._

Toby seemed to be silently debating on something. Sweeney was getting impatient.

"Is there a problem?" He demanded, lifting his chin to show the boy his neck.

Toby remained silent.

_Hell, is this how bloody annoying the silent-treatment is? _Sweeney wondered. If he had one of his razors on him now, he'd be flicking it out and in, and then a few times more. It was something he did when he was thinking hard, or merely bored.

As he began thinking about _this_, a sharp, ripping pain to his arm made him jump back.

"Augh! Damn, boy!" He shouted.

Toby had made his move.

"To the _throat_, I said." Sweeney hissed, examining his ripped sleeve that was seeping with more fresh blood now. He glared up at Toby crossly. What was the boy trying to prove now?

Toby still didn't reply though, and with a small moment's hesitation, his foot flew forward and kicked Lucy's corpse. Then he made a run for it, dropping the razor to the floor as he went.

"Why, you bloody-" Sweeney jumped to his feet at lightning speed and raced after Toby, soon making his way out of the bakehouse. Red fury blinded his vision. How _dare_ that boy do such a thing? It confused Mr. Todd more that Toby used to be far more polite than that.

_Maybe more so to Mrs. Lovett. _A voice in the back of his head reasoned.

Sweeney ignored it, swinging around the corner after reaching the top of the stairs. He ran into the pie shop. Toby wasn't exactly in plain sight, but the demon barber didn't need to see him to know where he went. After stalking only slightly and listening, Sweeney lunged. He found himself toppling over the first table nearest to him. His hands immediately found their way around Toby's neck. The boy began to choke.

"_This _is the final straw!" Sweeney snapped harshly, jolting forward and knocking the table over as he said so. "I've had enough of you!"

"I-" Toby tried, only to let out another noise to emphasize his struggle to breathe properly.

"You?" Sweeney prompted maniacally, already knowing out of satisfaction that the boy would not be able to speak properly for a while after this either..._if _he ever spoke again, that was.

_Benjamin, he's just a child._

Sweeney stopped mid-strangle to glance around in confusion.

Was that..._Lucy's_ voice?

It sounded so familiar, yet not, if that were even possible.

His attention was quickly snatched away from it, however, when he felt Toby trying to pry his hands off. The barber only tightened his grip in response to this though.

"I haven't finished with you yet." Sweeney reminded him in a growly tone.

"Please...sir..." Toby managed to croak. His eyes were beginning to close.

This went on for a few heartbeats more before the neigh of a horse from outside caught Sweeney's attention. He glared out the window to see a carriage parked outside the shop.

Then...he remembered.

_Johanna._

Sweeney jumped up from where he was knelt, leaving a half-conscious Toby lying against the turned-over table, to bust through the door of the pie shop and stand outside. He didn't see the long, yellow hair that he had always pictured.

Anthony and Johanna must have already gotten in...

"No.." He murmured under his breath, running over as fast as he could.

The crack of a whip sounded off, and the two horses that were hitched up to the front were off.

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><p>"Oh," Anthony shook his head, holding Johanna close to him as he watched Fleet Street pass by, soon gone. "I hope Mr. Todd was okay with us leaving so soon."<p>

"What does he care?" Johanna demanded. "He was about to _kill_ me, Antony! I swear. He was covered in blood."

"Mr. Todd is a very honest man." Anthony told her, for what was to be the fifth time already.

"I never pictured he'd look like _that_." Johanna gasped. "One would at least think he'd clean up a bit before our arrival."

"I'll send him a letter once we arrive in Plymouth." Anthony reassured her. "Things'll be sorted out then."

* * *

><p><em>No, this can't be happening...<em>

Sweeney leaned against the door of the pie shop, his breath nearly coming in and out in gasps. He couldn't believe it; Lucy, and now Johanna.

They were both gone, Johanna still having no knowledge that she was riding further and further away from her loving father at this very instant.

_You will meet with Johanna again on another occasion, Benjamin. _That soothing, familiar voice spoke from within once more. _Go inside and help the boy for right now. He needs you._

"The boy?" Sweeney questioned, having forgotten about Toby. When he _did_ remember, however, he sneered, "Why would I want to do that?"

_He's the only company you've got left, isn't he?_

Sweeney inwardly supposed she was right, and he reluctantly turned to the door to push it open. He spotted Toby still lying against the turned-over table, though he was a bit more woken up now. When he spotted the barber, Toby tried desperately to scoot away, fear lit in his eyes.

"Ah.." Sweeney breathed out. He missed that reaction to his arrival, as he was beginning to think he was loosing it. "Get up, boy." He muttered brusquely, grabbing Toby by the arm and dragging him to his feet.

Once Toby found his footing, he stumbled away from Sweeney to stand against the wall, glaring.

"I don't like you either," Sweeney hissed. "but we've got to put up with each other long enough to hide the evidence of our crime from the law."

"_Our _crime?" Toby exclaimed, his voice still weak from being strangled senseless.

"Yes, _our _crime." Sweeney took a step towards the boy. "You've got nowhere to go, and when the inspector comes after being told that Mrs. Lovett has vanished, they'll search the bakehouse and find all those bodies. We'll _both _be arrested."

"I'm eleven," Toby pointed out. "I'll be sent to an orphanage at least. _You'll _be hung." He turned towards the door, opening it and looking over his shoulder. "You deserve it."

"I'm _not _dying at the hands of the law." Sweeney growled. "And if you want me to die so badly, why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?"

"I'm not stooping down to your level," Toby retorted. "and I also want you to live with your actions." He turned back to the door. "It's the worst punishment."

Sweeney's heart skipped a beat.

"But," Toby went on. "if the law suggests you be hung, I wont challenge 'em." If not for the younger tone of voice, anyone would have thought Toby was a full-grown man for those words. Sweeney suddenly understood why Mrs. Lovett always spoke of Toby as being mature for his age.

"Fine then," He said smoothly, hatred in his eyes. "leave." He turned away. "Starve." He added in, before walking from the shop and heading back over to the stairs that led down into the bakehouse. The rest of the bodies needed to be burned. As soon as he heard the pie shop door close, indicating that Toby had left, Sweeney made his way back down the steps.

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><p><strong>Not to worry. Toby'll be back. ;)<strong>

**Thank you, Demolition . Lover . 14 for reviewing! Keeping the characters as **_**in**_**-character as possible is something I want to make sure of doing for this story. Hopefully the next chapter will be longer. I have an odd feeling that this one was shorter than my usual. **


	3. Successful Pleas For Help

**Yet another update. Since this one was here and ready! **

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><p>The demon barber came down the very last step and pushed the half-opened door forward. Blood stains were the very first thing that he noticed, and while he noted to clean that up later, he was more worried about the dead bodies (as well as their mis-placed parts). They were littered across the bakehouse floor. Sweeney soon realized that, when he'd send them down the chute, they most likely fell apart once they reached the end of their drop. How...strangely unfortunate.<p>

With a sigh, Mr. Todd took a few quick strides to the oven, feeling all too comfortable with being around the dead. He unlocked the door and swung it open, instant heat blasting out at him.

_This will take a while._

Rolling his eyes, he stalked over to the first body that came into his sight and did his best to lug it to the fire. This went on for a little while, the dead weight soon becoming painful. At one point, he tried dragging more than one. This resulted in one of the corpses's arms ripping off.

He merely frowned in distaste to this. Was that the source of all of Mrs. Lovett's screeches and groans of disgust from down here? Sweeney remembered he'd always either ignore her or tell her to be quiet, snapping at her and telling her that she'd give them away. The baker had done at her best to stifle herself, and she _did _grow used to lugging bodies after a while, after all.

Soon enough, most of the unfamiliar faces were gone from the floor. Sweeney found himself staring at the three bodies of Judge Turpin, The Beadle, and of course, his Lucy. With a growl, he grabbed The Beadle by the arms and dragged him across the blood soaked floor, scowling with disgust as he noticed the way the man's head was completely cracked open. Sweeney could only imagine what a mess he himself was. The Judge's blood was dried to his face and clothes, his shoes were dripping with the stuff every time he lifted them off the ground. The white streak that ran through his wild black hair grew cloudy with redness.

He didn't _feel _all too great either. His entire body was shaking with weariness, and he wanted nothing more than to rest his eyes for a while.

After deciding and acting on the decision that he'd rip off each of The Beadle's limbs and throw them in individually to save himself the trouble and stress of throwing in the entire body at once, Sweeney turned back around to glare hard at the Judge.

_Filthy bastard._

He stalked over to the body and gruffly lugged it over, finding himself ripping off the limbs of Turpin as well. This act was far more savage than that of The Beadle's burning, and Sweeney savored every time a spurt of blood would follow the ripping noise. He lastly came up with the Judge's head.

"Rot in hell." Sweeney hissed, launching it into the fire along with the rest of the mis-placed limbs.

_No, they're not mis-placed, _Sweeney thought. _they're right where they should be._

Turning away from the fire, the demon barber faced his wife once more. He had locked up the oven just like before, his dark eyes softening immediately.

"I really am sorry," He murmured, kneeling down beside her. "far more than I could ever say." He lifted her into his arms once more, hugging her to him. Resting his cheek on her head, he murmured something he thought he'd _never _word aloud again, "...I love you."

He could have sworn he felt the faint feel of a hand resting on his cold, stiff shoulder in response.

_I love you too, Benjamin. _This seemed to be whispered through the dead air.

Sweeney stayed like that for a while, with his eyes closed, perfectly still, holding Lucy close to him. He didn't want the surprisingly numbing hand on his shoulder to go away. There was a sense of comfort to it that he just wasn't ready to let go of yet.

However, after what felt like a year, (though Sweeney didn't care) the hand moved. Just as the barber was turning his head out of reflex, he felt warm breath against his neck.

_Go and help the boy, Ben._

"No." Sweeney muttered stubbornly.

_Would it convince you if I were to tell you he's in danger?_

"Of course not."

_Well, 'e is._

Sweeney narrowed his eyes; _that _voice was _not _Lucy's that time. It was pretty familiar though.

What kind of trouble could Toby have possibly gotten into already?

_What do you care? _...Okay, _that _was Sweeney Todd.

_'E's gonna die without you, love._

Sweeney glared around, fury rising in him. He now wished this new voice would leave him alone. "Why should I help the boy?" He demanded. "He _kicked _Lucy."

'_E was just angry, love. Quite a lot like you._

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><p>Toby dashed through the market, a scrap of bread clasped in his hand. He was running from a few people: a group of boys who also wanted the bread, and of course, the guy he stole it from. He headed for the nearest alley, dodging coaches and other people. He wouldn't have normally stolen, he really wouldn't have. But he didn't have Mrs. Lovett to buy food anymore, and Mr. Todd was pretty much out of the question. Besides, he was fast enough to make it out unscathed. All he could do was hope to lose them in the crowd, which <em>was <em>pretty big.

"Get back 'ere, you thief!"

Toby flinched, only picking up the pace. He bumped into many people who cursed at him harshly or shoved him. Never before had he ever been so hated in public. Scavengers and thieves _were _looked down upon often.

_I'm not a thief! _He wanted to scream it aloud, but it would only turn out to be true. _I'm only doing it 'cause I have to!_

He turned a corner and leaned against the dark, gray, gloomy brick wall of the side of a building he was unfamiliar with. His hyperventilating echoed through the narrow pathway, finally stealing a glance down at the bread. It wasn't in the best of shape, but Toby was absolutely starving. Is this what he'd have to do everyday, just to get some food?

"Stop right where y'are!"

Toby gasped, raising his gaze to rest it upon the man he had been running from this whole time: a taller man, with slightly graying hair. He wore an apron over his bronze-colored clothes. His fists were clenched. This man was quickly pushed aside, however, when a group of four younger boys came to savagely glare at Toby as well.

"'And it over, kid!" The oldest of the four commanded.

"It's mine now." Toby mumbled, trying to sound fierce.

"Don't fool yourself, lad." The older man hissed. "I'm not doin' anything wrong. _You_ know stealin' ain't right."

"I have to, sir." Toby passed the bread behind his back, keeping it out of sight. "I haven't got any money."

"_We've _got no money either!" One of the boys glared crossly his way.

"Yeah," Chimed in a pale boy that Toby knew as Victor, his voice rather timid. "we usually share with other boys, though..when-when we _do _find food."  
>The oldest smirked. "Yes..we do."<br>Toby blinked. "Why didn't you suggest that first then?"  
>"We got mad." Replied the boy standing in between the tallest boy, and Victor.<p>

They had innocent gleams in their eyes now.

"Enough of this!" The man had come charging back into the argument. "Give back that bread if y'know what's best for you, boy."

"Run, kid!"  
>Toby nodded, heading deeper into the alley. There was another turn at the end.<br>"'Ere, give it to me." The oldest boy came to run beside him, his expression frantic. "I'll give it back to you once we lose 'im."  
>Toby gasped out in reply, too weak with hunger to argue. Once he handed it over, the boy sped off.<p>

The others ran after him, all except Victor.

"You shouldn't have done that." The pale, skinny boy told him quietly, as the man began running after _them_. "He may not be chasing after you anymore, but Luke isn't gonna give it back now."  
>"What?" Toby gasped.<br>"Please don't bother." Victor placed his hand on Toby's shoulder. "He's gone from his stall. Maybe we can get some more bread."  
>"No!" Toby protested. "That was mine!"<br>"Wait-" Victor reached out as Toby sprinted off in the direction in which Luke and his two friends went off in.

Toby stopped as he reached the corner and glanced from left to right. He spotted the distant figures of Luke and his friends as he looked right. Hurrying up as he heard Victor running up from behind him, Toby dashed for the connected alley and neared them. Luke's two friends were shoving the older man into a dumpster, Luke already biting into the bread. Toby glared at him.

"'Ey, look who showed up." The teenager smirked.

"I don't want the bread anymore," Toby told him angrily. "Just get him out." He pointed towards the dumpster.

"Nah, I don' think I will." Luke rose from where he sat up against a wall, walking towards Toby now. "That one's been givin' us trouble for a while now."

"He has every right to." Toby pointed out. "You can't steal."  
>"<em>You <em>stole it. Not us." Luke reminded him. "Besides, you said it yourself: you don' 'ave any money. Neither do we. What're we supposed to do?"  
>"Try gettin' a job." Toby muttered under his breath.<p>

"What did you say?" Luke snarled, towering over the boy now. He grabbed Toby by the front of the shirt, though he didn't lift him. "Say that again." He bared his teeth violently.

Toby gaped up at him, slightly aware of Victor watching in horror from behind.

"Beat 'im, Luke!" Shouted one of his friends.

"Show 'im for stealin'!" Laughed the other.

Toby braced himself for the strike, but stopped in alarm as an outburst from the darkness of the alley caught all of their attentions,

"_I _happen to have a proposition for Luke, as well." A dark, sinister, and familiar voice murmured.

Toby glanced up with wide eyes.

_Mr. Todd?_

Sweeney Todd came prowling from the shadows, an intimidating as ever glare present on his face. Luke dropped Toby immediately, gazing up at the demon barber in shock. "Who're _you_?" He demanded, trying at his best to keep his voice from trembling.

Toby's heart skipped a beat as he realized the barber hadn't even changed his shirt or cleaned his pale face off._ We're gonna get arrested for sure. _He fought the urge to face-palm himself.

Sweeney didn't notice, however, as he stalked closer and closer to Luke. His eyes were narrowed, and a sadistic smile seemed to be threatening to play along his lips at any moment. "Why, I'm Mr. Sweeney Todd, of Fleet Street." He said, sounding far more friendly than he looked for once.

"Fleet Street?" Luke sneered. "Hmph, everyone knows there's nothin' but shady people there."

_Oh, and you're not shady? _Toby wanted so badly to say this aloud, but he did think Sweeney was getting onto something here. He didn't want to interrupt that, and he knew the demon barber would most likely kill him for doing it anyway if you got right down to it.

"I assure you," Sweeney said softly, smiling politely as his fingers twitched toward the razor holster on his belt. "we're not all that bad."

Luke narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "...Sure you aren't."

"What's the problem here, exactly?" Sweeney asked, his voice only rising to a more brisk change in tone.

"Jus' some kid stealin'. Nothin' to worry about, sir." Luke rolled his eyes.

"Really?" Sweeney took a small side glance at Toby, a more pointed questioning look within his eyes that was _only _meant for Toby to see.

"Luke," Whined one of the teenager's friends. "we're hungry too."  
>"Go find your own food then." Luke snapped.<p>

Toby backed up until he bumped into Victor, and he quickly retreated to the pale kid's side.

Sweeney still stood in the middle between Luke and his friends. "I was beginnin' to wonder abou' the body." He remarked casually, jerking his hand towards the dumpster so abruptly that Luke flinched. "Wha' was that about, if I may ask?"  
>"You're no officer!" Luke blurted. "You can't arrest me!" He obviously already got the idea that Sweeney saw everything.<p>

Though the demon barber honestly fought the urge to laugh at this point, he replied smoothly, "You're right. I am not an officer. I'm a barber."  
>"Get outta 'ere then!" Luke hissed, finding it hard to keep the fear from his voice. He turned back to Toby. "We've got to pick up where we left off."<br>"I think not." Sweeney whispered.

Toby glanced up in surprise; _Is he...sticking up_ _for me?_

Before Luke could reply, Sweeney grabbed hold of him, swung him around, and slammed him against the brick wall. In a flash he had his razor out, and he held it to the teenager's throat with a merciless glint in his cold eyes. Both of Luke's friends had screamed and ran out, and Victor had jumped behind the dumpster. Toby stayed put; he had seen this so many times already, and it had happened to himself so many times as well.

"No! P-please!" Luke squeaked. "D-d-don't h-hurt me."

Sweeney glared at him hard, the grip on his razor tightening. "Keep your problems out of his," He growled, motioning with his razor towards Toby. He pointedly glared back at Toby afterwards, as if to say, _"Because they're going to become mine too enough anyway."_

Toby blinked back a glare of his own, too pleased for the fact that Mr. Todd was actually protecting him. But at the same time, he was dreadfully confused. He had walked out of the pie shop in a huff, and he had no idea what Sweeney did afterwards, nor how the barber had known where he was and what was going on. Had someone seen him walking out, and told Sweeney where he had gone? Who would listen to a man who was covered with blood and armed with a razor though? Then again, pretty much everyone on Fleet Street knew Sweeney Todd. It had been around the time his and Mrs. Lovett's business was very famous.

At this thought, Toby felt a sudden pang of sadness. Sweeney still had Luke pinned against the wall, but when he glanced back, he dropped him.

"Come, lad." He murmured, grasping Toby on the shoulder and pulling the boy along with him. Toby dragged after him, and dared to take a small glance back at Luke. The teenager was dusting himself off, casting angry, wild glances after the boy and the barber.

Something told Toby that that wasn't the last he was going to see of him...

* * *

><p><strong>Yep, we've got a somewhat villain-like character now. Don't ask why I called him Luke. <strong>_**I**_** wouldn't have a clue. xD An idea for him is developing in my mind right now though..this could get interesting.**

**Also, the character Victor, (and mostly his look) was inspired off of Victor Van Dort's character in "Corpse Bride". He's so cute. :3**

**Plus...the reason for changing the title to "How To Carry On"? Well, I actually got inspired further by listening to the song "Life Starts Now" by Three Days Grace. I've had it on my mp3 player for a while now, and when I just recently listened to it, it just came to me. You'll learn that after a while, the song sorta fits the story. I don't really want to give a whole lot away yet though. xD So, let's just say it's fitting. ^^**


	4. Tension Spark At Hyde Park

**Just finished this one. I'm pretty happy with the result of this, I guess. :)**

**Oh yeah, and...**

**Hurray for a rhyming chapter name!**

* * *

><p> Sweeney dragged Toby through the alleys, trying to keep off the streets in hopes to stay out of the vision of the public. He didn't think it'd be a very good sight for one to spot a bloodied-up man with a razor pulling a, once again, half-conscious and mentally distressed young boy by the hand. Toby was shaking and staring straightforward, a look of sadness in his eyes that the demon barber couldn't find himself able to look away from. It annoyed him badly, actually.<p>

Once they arrived on Fleet Street, Sweeney sprinted across the street to the pie shop (still half-dragging Toby with him). He pushed the door open and stalked inside, roughly shoving Toby down into the booth next to the door as he went. He was planning on continuing to do something..but..once he reached the middle of the room, he stopped abruptly and stood in silence.

Toby only lifted his gaze slightly to stare at the barber for a long length of time. Once they finally locked eyes with each other, they exchanged a look that could only mean one need: gin.

Sweeney let out a breathy sigh and walked into the parlor, grabbing a bottle that he found conveniently sitting on the small wooden table that stood against the wall. He brought it back into the kitchen and got a glass for himself, filling it up and downing it in one swig before passing the entire bottle to Toby. He couldn't help but feel slightly amused the way the boy tried to hide the longing in his eyes as he grabbed the bottle, obviously a bit surprised the way the barber hadn't even challenged him before offering the drink over. Sweeney eyed his own glass tiredly for a few heartbeats, listening to Toby's savage-sounding gulping. Just as he was beginning to think that the young lad was drinking too fast, Toby let out a choking noise. Sweeney snatched the bottle away from the boy's grasp and quickly brought his hand up to slap him on the back. Toby's head shot forward, and he coughed up some of the gin onto the table with a sick shudder. He looked absolutely miserable. So miserable, in fact, that Sweeney _almost _felt sympathy for him. He reflected on all those sleepless nights, not long after arriving back in London, where he _too_ drunk himself into retching, in a mix of anguish and rage. That's what it took to make Sweeney realize that Toby had been through a great deal of events over the past few days. Either worrying or running during the time business had been booming. How in the world did the kid manage for all this time, anyway?

Gin.

Oh yeah.

Sweeney held the bottle out of Toby's reach, taking a more thoughtful sip of it and not caring that Toby had put his mouth on it already. Though they didn't know each other all that well, they had been putting up with one another for a while. What was another few minutes of silence that involved no lunging or shouting?

It _did_ turn out to grow awkwardly quiet though. You could quite possibly hear a pin drop to the floor without even trying to listen.

"...Why did Luke seem so scared of you?" Toby asked suddenly, his voice very weak-sounding. "He acted as though that wasn't the first time he saw you."

Sweeney looked up from the bottle in surprise before replying lowly, "He saw me commit a murder before."

Toby's eyes widened.

"He knew the secret." Sweeney added. "Saw me slittin' the throats of one of me customers." He snorted with amusement. "I, out of all honesty, thought it was the _customer _that was the "poor bugger", as Mrs. Love-" He stopped.

Toby lowered his head sadly.

"Don't look like that," Sweeney muttered irritably. "she lied to both of us."

"She was like the mother I never had." Toby said softly. "Despite the secrets she kept from me." Sweeney glared at him hard before turning away, taking another swig of the gin. He was mildly surprised; Toby wasn't the one drinking it up this time. They remained silent for a while again, until Toby spoke up once more,

"Don't we have bodies to burn?"  
>Sweeney shook his head absentmindedly, thinking back to his stay in the bakehouse. "..I took care of 'em." He replied, using that monotone voice of his again.<p>

"And your...your wife?" Toby stammered.

Sweeney's grasp on the bottle tightened, and Toby cringed, waiting for another outburst. The barber relaxed a bit though, and he rose from where he had sat down across from the boy to stand in the middle of the room again. "I'm going to bury her." He replied, fighting to keep his voice gruff, to keep it from breaking.

Toby didn't seem to notice yet though, and he asked casually, "Where?"  
>"I don't know." Sweeney growled, turning on the boy. Toby shifted back a bit.<p>

"Do you...do you want me to...to come, sir?" He asked hesitantly.

Sweeney's expression eased again, and he turned his back on Toby once more. "If you want to." He sighed, nearly breathing the words out. He suddenly remembered how exhausted he was. "We'll do it tomorrow morning." He decided. "Remember: if you're not on time, I'm _not _waitin' up. Got that, lad?"

Toby nodded glumly.

"Good." Sweeney sighed, shoving the bottle of gin back into Toby's hands. There was only a few swigs worth left, and Toby quickly finished it.

"Don't go looking for another." Sweeney said sternly. "You might choke again, and I won't be there to save you tonight."  
>Toby tilted his head to one side, but didn't reply. <em>D'you care about me, or not?<em>

Sweeney stressfully shook his head and walked back over to the side door, grabbing the knob and pulling it open. As he stepped out into the night, the cold, crisp air met him. It was refreshing, he had to admit. It seemed to get colder as he headed up the stairs to his tonsorial parlor, like so many times before. The last time he did this was...was when he thought everything was going to be okay for at least a night..before he knew that Mrs. Lovett had been lying to him.

As he reached the top, he glanced up at the sky. It was gray and cloudy as usual, but he could see the dim light of the sun beginning to poke through only slightly. He and Toby would get a few hours of sleep, at least. They'd have to start moving soon though.

Once he stepped into his shop, he stepped in the many puddles of blood splattered across the floor in order to get to his bed. The bed that he rarely used. Revenge was over with now. Sleep would hopefully come easier. Though he didn't even remove any clothing, as he was getting up in a little while anyway. Lying down was a great comfort to his back. He hadn't really rested into anything cushioning for a while, even if his bed wasn't the softest thing. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but feel a tad vulnerable just laying there. He was so used to having razor-at-the-ready.

Sleep claimed him before he could start thinking about this, however.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Toby was dreaming. It was one of his nightmares. The 'cannibalistic pie makermad barber' nightmare again.

Never good...

He blinked open his eyes at the feel of a hand shaking his shoulder violently.

Dark, empty eyes met his.

"Mr. Todd!"

"Are you coming or not?"

The demon barber had wiped his face clean of all blood, and changed his shirt. All the bloodstains were gone, sure, but he still looked awfully intimidating. Toby jumped from his bed, his heart pounding in his chest. Sweeney now stood in the doorway, his fists clenched. A freshly sharpened razor rested in his holster. A shovel was held down by his side. There was a new and improved wave of power radiating from him.

Toby gulped.

_...Wait! Mr. Todd said he'd leave without me if I wasn't awake in time._

"Sir...?" He began questioningly.

Sweeney had already noted this, however. He turned away. "Come along, lad." He obviously wasn't in the mood to talk.

_No change, no change. _Toby shook his head, almost fondly, as he followed after the barber.

There was no fondness in Sweeney's solemn stare. He blankly headed down the bakehouse stairs like so many times already, with Toby trailing behind.

As they approached Lucy's body once more, Toby immediately felt guilty for kicking her; she was actually quite pretty. He could just tell that if she were still alive, she'd be very...very virtuous.

Sweeney let out a shaky breath before handing the shovel to Toby and lifting Lucy up, carrying her back to the stairs; she was very light. He didn't wait for Toby as he hurried back up the steps. He wanted to make this short and sweet. There'd be a bigger chance of him getting emotional if he lagged on this, and Toby would only make this harder.

"Pick up the pace, would you?" He muttered after a moment.

Toby sent him another glare of his own. "Where are we even going to bury her?" He asked.

Sweeney had been thinking about this, though he still had nothing.

"I was thinkin'," Toby began hesitantly. "You, Mum, and her late husband Albert..Lucy, too..you all used to live here together, right?"  
>"Yes." Sweeney replied sullenly.<p>

"Why not bury Lucy right by the house, then?" Toby suggested.

Sweeney really wished he could, but...there were too many painful memories here.

Then, as if using good memories to fight off the painful ones, Sweeney had an idea. "Hyde Park." He murmured.

"What?" Toby questioned.

Sweeney cleared his throat awkwardly, resting his dark gaze on the floor. "Lucy and I used to take walks through Hyde Park." He muttered, refusing to meet the boy's eyes.

"Oh," Toby shrugged slowly. "that'd work."

"Glad you think so." Sweeney narrowed his eyes threateningly, causing the boy to draw back. Just as Toby recovered from fright and made his way for the door of the shop, Sweeney stopped him.

"We've got to cover the body with something." The barber reminded him.

"I'll, uh..I'll get a blanket." Toby decided uneasily, hurrying from the room and heading for the parlor. He was quite glad to get out of the demon's vision for a minute or so.

He then returned with a gloomy-looking grayish-brown one, and handed it to Mr. Todd.

"If we stick to the alleys," Sweeney murmured, gently pulling the blanket over Lucy's body. "we wont look as suspicious."  
>"Why can't we just tell the public a loved one has died?" Toby asked.<p>

"No one announces such things on Fleet Street." Sweeney replied darkly. "Too many times, someone would claim to have lost a loved one when they really..."  
>"...killed them themselves?" Toby finished questioningly.<p>

Sweeney nodded, looking rather glum now. "Let's go." He whispered, holding Lucy close to him as he and Toby made their way out of the shop.

* * *

><p>Johanna made her way around the house, her dazzling blue eyes bright. Her ordeal with the murderous barber now long-forgotten. This house was absolutely perfect! She and Anthony had only just arrived in Plymouth a few hours ago, and had immediately gone looking for a house of their own.<p>

"What d'you think of it, love?" Anthony came strolling in, and Johanna came over to work her way into his arms.

"It's perfect." She whispered in reply.

Anthony smiled, securely tightening his arms around her. "You sure? There's tons more to choose from."  
>"I think this is the one." Johanna insisted.<p>

"...All right." Anthony nodded, lowering his head only slightly to kiss her on the lips. "Welcome home then, love."  
>Johanna beamed, pulling him closer. Though she didn't reply; she simply didn't need to.<p>

* * *

><p>"What're you <em>doing<em>?"

"It's stuck!"

Sweeney let out a quiet, agitated groan. Toby stood under an overhanging tree, the shovel held up in a mess of branches. He tried hard to pull it down, but to no avail.

"Let me." Sweeney growled, placing Lucy in the grass and grabbing hold of the handle that hung freely down. Toby watched intently, hoping so badly for the shovel to fall and hit the barber in the head for being so impatient. However, once it did get yanked free, Sweeney swiftly caught onto it with only one hand, something Toby knew he wouldn't have been able to do.

"Keep it low," Sweeney muttered, dropping the shovel back into the boy's arms. "we don't want to attract much attention anyway, remember?"  
>"Right, right..." Toby mumbled.<p>

Sweeney glanced around unsurely now. In the distance, he spotted children playing, while not far behind adults were either watching contently, minding their own business, or mingling amongst one another. No one there was paying much attention to notice Sweeney and Toby. The spot they were in was isolated from the rest of the park, though next to a tree with a very thick trunk.

_I'll be able to find it easily, and no one will notice me. _Sweeney slowly nodded. This was the place they were looking for. "We're going to be burying her here." He decided aloud.

"You sure, sir?" Toby checked.

"If I wasn't sure, I would've said so by now." Sweeney pointed out in a dangerously low voice.

Toby flinched.

"Start digging." Sweeney ordered quietly.

Toby was getting ready to protest, to ask why the barber couldn't have done it himself...but then he remembered that he liked his throat the way it was. He stuck the shovel into the ground, gasping at how difficult it was already becoming. He always assumed the ground here was soft, judging by the lush, green grass. The dirt was much harder and rougher, however.

Sweeney leaned against the trunk, his arms rapped around Lucy's body that now limply leaned against him. He was staring at the shovel working into the ground with a watchful gaze, as if contemptuously noting every time Toby's grip would ease out of weariness, or stop completely. Toby worked matter-of-factly now, trying to look through the corners of his eyes. He was beginning to wonder whether or not Mr. Todd would even be able to part with the body, as he seemed to be holding it close with no intentions of letting go.

Suddenly, Toby felt the shovel effectively break through the soil. He glanced down eagerly, his eyes brightening.

_I've made a dent!_

He was exhausted already, and felt even worse as he was preparing to lift the shovel up once more to dig it deep in again. Just as his arms tensed up, he felt a shockingly cold hand rest on his shoulder.

Sweeney had stopped him from doing any more, sparing him the stress.

"I'll take over." The barber murmured.

Toby blinked up at him in surprise, but quickly handed the shovel over with a small nod. He then went to sit against the tree trunk, resting his tired muscles and watching Sweeney work. It felt creepy to sit next to a dead body though, but knowing that a supposedly kind and virtuous soul had once driven it, Toby felt slightly more at ease.

Sweeney didn't appear to tire of the digging, and he ended up doing the rest in silence. Toby wouldn't have minded starting up some sort of conversation, but thought better of it. The man was burying his dead wife, he at least deserved a bit of respect for this moment at least. Lucy deserved a moment of silence as well; her life was pretty much just as tragic, though not nearly as much agonizing waiting and suffering from physical to mental involved.

Sweeney placed Lucy beside the hole he had made and knelt down beside her, running a pale hand, mostly covered by a fingerless glove, through her now-dull yellow hair. A terrible sob was rising into his chest, but he forced it back down.

_Hyde Park, Lucy. You and I. You do remember, don't you?_

Yes, long before Johanna had been born, and not long after she _had _been. This had been _their_ place...Benjamin's and Lucy's. The two had no idea that things would change for the worst in no time at all..so they continued onward like fools with no thought of savoring the moment..because they thought it'd last forever.

Toby watched Mr. Todd nervously, focusing his gaze on the barber's eyes: they were blank and still, not moving from the body once. They'd flash with occasional pain, and then anger, and then sadness again. They were allowing faint tears to form. Toby was shocked, truth be told. He knew for a fact that Sweeney would never let them fall though. Maybe when he was alone, if anything.

_You got your revenge. Quit it, would you?_

Sweeney straightened at this voice, and the tears vanished when he willed his icy glare to return. It wasn't for the sake of his own deadly reputation that he not cry. It was because he didn't want Toby to start panicking; how would he react to the fact that the one guy that was capable of protecting him turned out to be just as strong as any other in a split second where he was ever-so-slightly beginning to feel sorry for himself?

Sweeney leaned down and kissed Lucy on the forehead before picking her up and dropping her into the hole, gazing down at her with a wistful look in his eyes before grabbing the shovel and beginning to fill it in. Toby was surprised that the barber hadn't commanded him to do it.

After he was done, Sweeney stared at the ground once he dropped the shovel. There was a mound of dirt there now that they'd have to flatten down a bit. Toby hesitantly took to that, while Mr. Todd still kept his eyes pinned to the ground with an unreadable expression on his face. There was no anger or sadness there left in his eyes. Just...nothing.

Toby felt a pang of sympathy, taking a small step towards the demon barber. He reached out with a shaky hand to touch his arm, already anticipating a slap to the wrist or a razor to the throat.

But there was nothing.

Sweeney blinked at the feel of Toby's warm hand against his arm, silently debating on whether or not he should take offense. There was nothing offensive to point out about this, however.

"...I'm sorry." Toby murmured.

"What?" Sweeney glanced down at him suspiciously, seeming to have snapped out of his trance-like state. His arm tensed up a bit too.

"Your loss," Toby explained lamely. "I-I'm sorry for it."

Sweeney appeared to have found nothing wrong with this, so his gaze fell back down upon the ground.

Toby went on gently, "Everyone feels this way when they lose someone." He breathed out heavily. "Kind of..kind of how I felt when you threw Mum into the fire. And-"  
>He was cut off abruptly, and thrown against the tree trunk with a razor to his throat.<p>

_Oh, goody. He's back!_

Sweeney glared at him fiercely, a replenished fire lit in his eyes. "Don't you _dare _bring up that liar while standing over my wife's body!" He snarled.

"I was just tryin' to relate." Toby glared right back at him. "You aren't the only one with a problem!"

Sweeney still held the furious glare, but didn't say anything. Just as Toby was beginning to think that Mr. Todd's grip on the razor was loosening, he let out a cry of pain; the razor had only lightly grazed his neck. Sweeney took a step back after doing this, then turned on his heels and stormed away. Toby dropped down into a sitting position against the tree trunk and lifted his hand to feel the small cut that was left there. He felt a few drops of blood, but he wiped them away vigorously, letting out a breath as he watched Sweeney walking off in the distance.

_He's leaving without me._

Yes...it was times like these where he _really_ missed his adoptive mother.

* * *

><p><strong>I'll hopefully have the next one up soon! Yeah, I don't have them nice and ready anymore. I actually need to write them as I go now. xD<strong>


	5. Noticing Her Absence

**Here's another update! Because I really have a lot of time to write now.**

* * *

><p>Toby got to his feet and brushed the dirt from his pants. He glanced down at the smaller mound of dirt that covered the hole and decided to flatten it the rest of the way before going back. It wasn't as hard as digging, that was for sure. He <em>was <em>sweating by the time he was done, however. Or maybe that was just because of the shock, what with Mr. Todd lunging at him.

_Mr. Todd..._

What was going to happen when he got home?

Nervously, heart pounding, Toby slung the shovel over his shoulder and walked away from Lucy's burial place. Hyde Park was so big, it took a while for the boy to get out. He knew the way back to Fleet Street by heart though. Mrs. Lovett had taken him, sometimes Mr. Todd as well, to the park for picnics. At this thought, Toby's head hung rather low again. He seemed to drag dead weight as he pushed the pie shop door open. It was dark and gloomy as usual inside. Sweeney wasn't there, but that was no surprise to him. Toby could already hear the faint noise of the barber pacing from upstairs.

With a sigh, he sat down in a booth after grabbing another bottle of gin and a glass. He supposed he should have been happy; it was all his this time. But...no person could ever fill the spot sitting opposite him in the booth. No one but Mrs. Lovett could ever do that again. Her presence was always so cheery and upbeat, despite the deadly barber upstairs that always seemed to foil their fun plans or simply drain the happiness from them all together.

Just as Toby was getting ready to take another swig from the bottle, a knocking sound on the pie shop door made his head lift up in alarm. He saw a man standing on the other side, gazing through the window with a worried look in his eyes. Toby stood up and opened it, staring up at this new man in confusion.

"Is everything all righ' 'ere?" The man asked immediately, taking a peek over Toby's shoulder to peer into the shop.

"Yes," Toby replied, finding it hard to keep the hesitance from his voice. "why d'you ask, sir?"

"I jus' 'aven't seen Mrs. Lovett for a while now." The man explained. "Is she all righ'? She's usually up an' abou', isn't she?"  
>"She's fine, sir." Toby mumbled. "Ill, I'm sad to say." Oh yes, he could lie too.<p>

"I'm sorry, lad." The man sighed. "Tell 'er the whole street's waitin' for 'er return. We can't wait for more've them pies."

Toby's chest began to ache. "I'll..I'll be sure to tell her, sir."  
>"What abou' that barber that lives upstairs?" The man asked suddenly. "What's 'e been up to?"<br>"Er...what-what he's always been up to, sir." Toby said, trying to keep his voice convincing enough. It wasn't entirely a lie, after all. But had this man found them out already?

"Tha's good to know..an I suspect 'e's carin' for Mrs. Lovett like family?" The man pressed.

Toby gulped. "Yes, sir. He's..he's very fond of her."

_Ooh, I'm so glad Mr. Todd ain't here._

"Really.." The man still tried to get a look inside, so Toby grabbed the doorknob. "..I'm glad she's found someone, then."  
>Toby suppressed a shudder; just the thought of Mr. Todd becoming his adoptive father was too much to bear. He slowly began to close the door once he recovered, though. "I really should be gettin' to bed, sir."<p>

"Of course." The man took a step back and nodded. "Goodnight, lad."  
>Toby merely nodded before closing the door completely and settling down into the booth again, his breathing shaky. What was he going to do now? The whole street obviously noticed Mrs. Lovett's absence then.<p>

_Mr. Todd'll know what to do. _Toby thought. He wasn't just going to walk right into the barber's parlor and explain the problem, however. He was going to wait until the man came back downstairs.

* * *

><p>Sweeney paced for a while. He barely noticed as the sky grew darker and darker, even if he was right next to the window. He was too deep in thought,<p>

_Did the boy make his way back safely? What if Mrs. Lovett quits on me when she finds out I left him at the park by himself?  
><em>

It took a few moments for Sweeney to 'remember', and when he did, he grew irritated again.

_I've seriously got to stop with that._

He had considered going back downstairs to check several times already. It seemed pretty logical, but the demon barber didn't want the boy questioning him as to why he came down. He didn't want it to look like he cared..which he most certainly did not, of course.

Then again, he _also_ didn't want those annoying voices chiming into his life again. Unless the voice belonged to either Lucy or Johanna, he didn't want to listen.

_Ben, just-_

"All right!" Sweeney nearly toppled over the monster chair of his. He quickly navigated around it and headed for the door. "If you think he's in trouble again, I'll-"

A loud thud from downstairs made him jump.

"Ugh..damn that boy." He muttered, reluctantly opening his door and making his way outside. He tried to peer through the side door window once he was half way down the stairs, but wasn't able to see Toby from there.

"What's he possibly up to now?"

He couldn't help but notice the way a few people stood across the street, staring at the pie shop with worried eyes, while a few others were staring at _him_ in slight suspicion.  
>Trying to ignore them as he pushed the side door open, Sweeney glanced down to see Toby lying on the floor next to the booth. He honestly wasn't sure whether to be lightly amused or terribly frustrated when he saw the bottle of gin on the table.<p>

"Boy," He knelt down beside Toby and prodded him roughly on the shoulder. "I don't want to have to pick you up."  
>"...Please don't..." Toby moaned after a heartbeat or two.<p>

Sweeney rolled his eyes. "Get up then, why don't you?"

Toby let out a tired breath, and Mr. Todd had to wrinkle his nose against the strong smell of alcohol on it.

"For how long so far this time?" He asked casually.

"Since I got home, sir." Toby replied shakily. He grabbed onto the barber's arm to pull himself up and regain his balance. Sweeney yanked the boy up the rest of the way before sharply drawing his arm back. Just as Toby looked as though he was getting ready to fall back down though, the demon had to push the young lad back into the booth.

"When're you going to stop with this?" He asked quietly.

"Maybe aroun' the time you quit with puttin' razors to my throat." Toby slurred.

Sweeney was getting ready to do just that, though he had to give the boy credit for the gut he seemed to put into his words. His grip on the razor in which he was just getting ready to flash out loosened, until his hand finally slipped away from it completely.

"Sir," Toby's eyes now seemed glazed over in fear. "a man came to the shop..a little while before you came down."

Sweeney tensed. "You didn't let him in, did you?" He narrowed his eyes.

"No, sir." Toby quickly shook his head.

Sweeney turned his suspicious glare towards the bottle of gin. "Good." He muttered, before grabbing it and taking a swig.

Toby gasped. "That was mine." His voice didn't raise, but he couldn't seem to keep the whining tone from it. Sweeney ignored him and took a side glance out the window, still to see the people on the other side of the street casting the shop anxious looks.

"...What?" Toby followed his gaze. His eyes grew round at the sight. "From the same group that man came from, I reckon, sir."

Sweeney merely grunted in response to this.

"They really loved Mum." Toby said lowly, giving Mr. Todd a pointed stare.  
>Sweeney fought the urge to slap him. Before Toby could say more, however, he spoke up, "...We've got to get rid of all the bloodstains before they start pokin' around here."<br>"Why don't _you _hop right on that?" Toby glared at him.

"You think _I _can do it all-" Sweeney cut himself off.

No...

How could he be so stupid?

"...alone?" Toby finished with a grin.

Sweeney rested his elbow on the table and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily, closing his eyes. "That wasn't what I was going to say."

"Sure about that?" Toby looked triumphant now. "I mean, when I think about it, there _was _a few things you could'a said instead. Like..." He tipped his head to one side in pretend thought. "...all by me self, or...without you to accompany me, or...without _you_, Toby, or-" He was cut off abruptly as Sweeney brought his hand back, as if getting ready to hit him.

Toby shut his eyes and cringed, waiting for the in-pact.

He felt nothing though.

Once he finally opened his eyes, he saw Sweeney still sitting across from him, though his attention was now turned on his razor. He was smirking to himself slyly as he examined it. Toby's rapid heartbeat eased off after a moment. He sat back in the booth and stared at the barber for just a minute at least in silence; this was the happiest and most pleased Mr. Todd looked in days. Sure, it might've been from causing fright to someone else..but it appeared to have kicked his happiness up a notch higher, something that Toby didn't think was possible in all his days of knowing the Demon Barber of Fleet Street.

"D'you want me to show you 'ow long I could go without asking for your help?" Sweeney asked suddenly, though not looking up from his 'friend'.

Sweeney's somewhat playful-for-once tone made it all the more tempting, but Toby really didn't want to humiliate the demon further. "That's okay," He replied with a small smile as Mr. Todd turned his back on him again. "I'll help."

* * *

><p>"Phew!"<p>

Anthony finally set down the new reclining chair that he and Johanna had just bought, along with many other things for their new house.

"Looks great," Johanna chirped, coming to stand next to him. "now all we need to do is get the-"  
>"Um, actually, love," Anthony interrupted her gently, his eyes having an apologetic gleam in them. "I wanted to get around to the..." His words trailed off, and Johanna tensed in understanding.<p>

"Are you sure?" She whispered.  
>"Of course." Anthony blinked at her. "Mr. Todd needs to know that everything's okay."<br>"I don't really want him to know where we live." Johanna muttered.

"Come now," Anthony rapped his arms around her. "he'd never do anything to harm you."  
>"How do you know?" Johanna asked quietly, already beginning to tremble as she rested her head against his chest.<p>

"We're friends, he and I." Anthony replied. "He knows you mean a great deal to me."  
>It took a moment, but Johanna soon breathed out heavily and slowly nodded, "All right, Antony. Do what you think you should."<br>Anthony grabbed her hand in his own and squeezed it in a comforting manner before pulling away and walking over to a small side table that stood against the wall. It had a stack of parchment on it, and he lifted it up and placed it on the floor. Then, he grabbed just one from the very top of the stack after grabbing a bottle of ink and quill and pulling up a chair to sit down on.

_Dear Mr. Todd,_

He paused for a moment to listen as Johanna made her way out of the room, then continued writing,

_I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am for your help back there on Fleet Street. Johanna and I have made it safely to Plymouth, and have already found a house of our own to settle down in. We would not have been able to do this without your help, my friend. For that, we thank you ever so much. However, this wasn't the only reason I wrote to you. Supposedly, you gave Johanna quite a fright. She claims (and I highly doubt it) that you were covered in blood and holding a equally bloody razor up like a maniac, getting ready to slash her with it. It was obviously a misunderstanding though, right? I mean, when she told me about it, I immediately told her that that didn't sound like you at all. She doesn't seem to believe me though. I'm not accusing you of anything, I assure you. In fact, I wouldn't put it past her to have gotten caught up in the suspenseful moment. But I just wanted to hear your side of the story, if you would be so kind._

_Your friend, Anthony Hope_

He stopped and let out a breath, then began looking the parchment over to make sure everything was right. Afterwards, he left it on the table to dry and went to go help Johanna in the other room.

* * *

><p><strong>Tell me what you think! :) Oh yes, and, <strong>_**very **_**foreshadowing, I agree.**


	6. It Doesn't Concern You

**Thanks to all who think I should continue! **_**I **_**want to continue, so I'm glad I've got a few reasons why I really should. xD**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"Yuck..."<p>

Toby scrubbed the floor of the bakehouse, occasionally letting out a squeak or groan of disgust. When all the bodies were gone, it seemed as though the blood had made a vow to splatter every inch of the floor.

Not fun to clean up...

It wasn't coming off very easily either, no matter how hard he scrubbed.

He thought Mr. Todd would have been a tad more pleasant about this, but the barber seemed to go back to his regular self not long after they began cleaning the walls and floors. The first glare Toby received since their little talk a few days ago confirmed that. It didn't scare Toby as much as it normally would, not if it meant having to come back down here. Every time he would take a glance towards the oven, he'd always think of Mum. He'd always seem to hear her screams of agonizing pain. It'd send a chill down his spine immediately. He would go anywhere else but there, just as long as it meant he didn't have to hear those screeches anymore...

"...Bloody...repulsive...the _nerve _of...ugh..." Sweeney's agitated muttering broke into his thoughts, and Toby had to work at his hardest to restrain a smile.

Mr. Todd stalked through the doorway, not even speaking a word to Toby as he knelt down beside a bucket filled with water, now mixed with blood. He was still muttering to himself, but what he was saying was obviously not for anyone else to hear, because no one would be able to understand it anyway.

"Say it at any time." Toby chimed into Sweeney's quiet ranting, though he didn't stop scrubbing.

Sweeney paused for a moment before asking lowly, "Say what?"

"That you regret killing all those people." Toby rolled his eyes.

"Why would I say that?"  
>"Because now we have a big mess to clean up."<p>

"Let me assure you:" Sweeney glared his way. "killing them was _fun_. Though cleaning up after ourselves is _not_, it still needs to be done."  
>"Yeah, right," Toby shook his head. "I'm sure there's no other place you'd rather be than here." His hands seemed to slow from working as he added in quietly, "And I really wish you'd stop usin' the word <em>"our"<em>..."

Sweeney obviously overheard this, however, because his glare hardened. "I recall you tracking plenty of blood around when that fantastic Mum of yours locked you in here." He spat. "As far as I'm concerned, this is _our _mess."  
>Toby turned around to settle his hateful glare on the demon barber, but stopped short to stare in surprise instead; Mr. Todd's sleeves were rolled up to reveal many scars running along his pale arms. Sweeney's eyes weren't on Toby anymore though, and so he didn't catch the boy staring. He just took the rag that he had brought down with him and dunked it into the bucket, only to lift it out and scowl at the way it was still dripping with thin, red liquid, and hadn't really cleaned it off at all.<p>

"Er.." Toby tilted his head to one side. "..sir?"  
>"..What?" Sweeney didn't look up from the rag.<br>"Where'd you get...um..." He continued to stare.

Sweeney looked up this time, his eyes narrowing.

Toby rested his hand on his own arm as he spoke, "..the..the.."

"These?" Sweeney held out his arm and looked it over, and Toby could have sworn he saw slight pain flash through the demon's eyes for an instant. He was silent for a moment, and then replied darkly, "...Got 'em in Australia."

"Australia?" Toby blinked.

"S'what prison does to you." Sweeney looked away. "And fifteen years of hard labour."

Toby never knew Mr. Todd went to prison, though...when he thought about it, it wasn't much of a surprise to him. "Looks more like they beat you."

Sweeney avoided the boy's gaze and swallowed hard, "...I never said they didn't." He muttered.

Having to push down another pang of sympathy, Toby awkwardly got back to scrubbing. He really wished he could concentrate, but he just couldn't seem to now. The vision of Sweeney Todd getting beaten in a prison seemed so impossible. Surely he would've flashed out his razors and scared them all away? He _was _pretty scary.

_Was he _always_ this scary though?_

Sweeney got to his feet and rolled his sleeves down after casting the scars another look. He breathed out heavily and walked back over to the door, taking a small glance over his shoulder to watch Toby work for a moment before heading back up the stairs. Once he reached the top, he walked back into the shop to lean on the counter and think. When he thought about it, all those awful days of work and terrorizing nights in prison cells got the same reaction out of him that they had all those years ago. The effect seemed to be carried through the scars that he now carried. He'd think of it every time he would look at them, and it angered Sweeney that Toby had dared bring them up...but in a sense, it also touched him ever so slightly that the boy had actually noticed. If he hadn't given Toby such a fright over the last few days of business, the young lad would have most likely gone as far as sympathizing. Sympathy was something Sweeney didn't take well (even if he didn't get much of it). It made him feel like the people around him didn't think he was able to handle pain alone. He was very well able! He handled pain for fifteen years all by himself without a loved one in sight to comfort him. All those nights where he was in too much pain to sleep...or the ones where he'd literally _cry _himself to sleep...no one was ever there to tell him that everything would be okay...

So, Benjamin Barker learned that nothing would ever be okay again, and he died from it.

Sweeney Todd was born, and he _lived _by the fact that wounds could never completely heal. So...what better thing to do afterwards but _make _wounds in the throats of others?

A somewhat hesitant rapping on the pie shop door jolted Sweeney from his thoughts, and he looked up to see a boy of about Toby's age standing outside the door.

Nodding to him through the window, Mr. Todd walked over and pulled the door open to stare down at him.

"A-a.." The boy stuttered. "...a letter for 186 Fleet Street." He pulled out an envelope.

Sweeney snatched it away a tad sharper than he had meant to, and he reluctantly gave the kid a very small smile to take the sting out of his actions before muttering a gruff, "Thanks." and closing the door. He turned his back on the door and quickly glanced down at the letter, annoying curiosity pricking at him. It could have quite possibly been for Mrs. Lovett, as no one knew of her 'state' yet. She had a few relatives that lived further away. Seemingly nice people, though Sweeney didn't care to get to know them; he never really wanted to do so with anyone if he could help it.

He shook his head and quickly ripped the envelope open, not aware that what he was about to read would require a very tight bracing.

* * *

><p>"AHH!"<p>

Toby stumbled back, nearly smacking himself against the wall to stare in horror.

It was a...a...a..._brain_...on the _floor_...

He barely missed bumping into it while he was scrubbing.

"Mr. Todd!" He screamed, dashing through the door and up the stairs.

Now he remembered...The Beadle...

He had come falling through the chute, and his head cracked open when he landed headfirst. Toby had been there to see. It was horrifying...

"Mr. Todd!" He called again, running past the parlor and stopping in the shop to look around. Sweeney wasn't there.

"Mr. Todd," He could just barely keep his voice above a whisper. "I need you..."

Just then, he caught the very faint and distant sound of scraping.

Oh, he had heard that noise all too many times before.

It was the sound of a razor running along a strop...

"Mr. Todd!" He bolted for the side door and flipped around to race up the stairs. When he reached the barber's shop, he gazed through the window to see the demon's back to him.

"Sir!" He busted through the door.

Sweeney flipped around, the razor he was now holding missing the strop and running into his wrist instead. The barber growled in pain, then turned his hard glare on Toby.

"What could you possibly want?" His voice was strangely shaky.

Toby was at loss for words. "I...I...s-saw a..."

Sweeney turned his back on the boy once more. "Out with it," He sneered. "whenever you please, lad." He went back to roughly sharpening his razor.

"Uh..." Toby swallowed, finding it somewhat odd how he was standing before the very man that had made The Beadle's brain splatter onto the bakehouse floor, and yet he seemed more afraid of the brain than anything. He fought to keep his voice steady as he started again, "...there's a..a brain on the..bakehouse floor.." His hyperventilating was a tad more quiet now, but it definitely didn't stop.

Sweeney paused for a moment, then let out a faint breath. "...What d'you want me to do about it?"

Toby frowned and went to sit down on the chest that sat against the wall, next to the door. "I don't know.." He mumbled.

He waited about half a minute, then realized that the scraping had stopped. When he glanced up, he saw that Sweeney was still trying to sharpen the razor, but his hands were too shaky.  
>"Is everything all right, sir?" He asked.<p>

"Why?" The barber grunted.

"Well," Toby tilted his head. "you're actin' funny."

"There-there's nothing...funny a-about.." Sweeney desperately struggled to keep his voice steady.

"...Sir-"

"Show me." Mr. Todd snapped, stalking forward and pulling Toby to his feet by the shoulder.

"Show you what?" Toby held back from the door.

"The..." Sweeney eyed him for a moment. "...the brain."  
>"Oh," Toby closed his eyes tightly. "I really don't want-"<br>"Just show me."

Toby sighed in defeat and reluctantly opened the door, stepping outside. He led the barber down the stairs and back into the pie shop. They headed back over to the bakehouse door.

"You wont miss it." Toby mumbled.

"Oh, you're not coming with?" Sweeney stared at him with slight contempt in his eyes once more.

This irritated Toby further. "No." He looked away.

Sweeney noted the firmness of the boy's voice with mild surprise before slowly nodding and making his way down the stairs again. Toby hung back at the top, finding the barber's new behavior rather strange.

_Why was he shaking so much?_

He shrugged it off, figuring he'd most likely find out soon enough, and walked into the parlor to sit on the couch. He was soon resting his head on the arm, and pretty soon after, he dozed off.

* * *

><p>Toby woke, and the first thing he noticed was that the room was much darker. As he sat up, blinking his eyes a few times groggily, he craned his neck a bit to peer into the shop. From outside the windows, he saw with a jolt that it was night.<p>

_Have I really been sleepin' for that long?_

He got to his feet and cautiously approached when he saw that Mr. Todd was sitting in a booth. He had a candle lit on the table, and was reading something off a piece of parchment.

"Sir?" Toby murmured.

Sweeney turned to look at the boy with an unusual pained look in his eyes before turning back to reading, not even making a sound.

"What's that you got there?" Toby navigated his way through the darkness, heading towards the candle's light. He slid into the booth, sitting opposite the barber.

Sweeney didn't reply. He just continued staring at the parchment until he finally set it down on the table and lifted a pale hand to run it through his wild black hair, letting out another shaky breath in the process. Toby could see through the candle's eerie, dim light that the bags under the demon barber's cold eyes were redder than usual, and slightly damp, as if he had just been wiping away...

"Sir," He began quietly. "w-what does the letter say?"  
>Sweeney was silent for a moment, then said in an obvious grief-stricken voice, "Nothing that'd concern you..."<p>

Toby fought down the urge to roll his eyes. "I know, none of your business concerns mine. But, why would I help clean up _our _mess if we didn't share some kind of business with one another?"

"Mm," Sweeney's expression didn't change. "I got that frightening thing off the bakehouse floor, by the way." He took his hand away from his head to rest his arm across the table. "It'll probably take a while longer for them bloodstains to get out, but we'll try, wont we?"

Toby sighed and stressfully buried his face in his hands. "What's wrong with us?" He groaned, his voice muffled.

Sweeney looked away to hide the smirk that was growing. "Mrs. Lovett and I were sitting right here when this all started." He said quietly. "She came up with the idea of putting my customers into her pies."

"_What?_" Toby was unable to keep the shock out of his voice.

"What, you think _I _came up with that?" Sweeney sneered.

"...Well, yeah." Toby shrugged. He lowered his gaze to rest it on the table.

Sweeney sighed. "Say it at any time." He murmured.

"Say what?"  
>"That your Mum is to blame for at least <em>some <em>of this whole incident."

Toby rose an eyebrow at him. "Maybe when you admit that you regret killing all those innocent people."

"Never."

"That's what I thought."

Toby felt a small wave of tension beginning to form again, and could already picture Sweeney grabbing hold of a razor from his belt.

Instead of pushing _that _subject further, he spoke again, "So what does the letter say?"  
>"You wouldn't understand." Sweeney replied lowly, lifting a hand up to rub his eyes again.<p>

"Sure I would." Toby waved him off and grabbed for the parchment, but Sweeney snatched it up again before he could reach it. He almost seemed to forget how much he feared the barber...that was, until he received another cold glare that brought him back to his senses.

Sweeney placed it on his lap, still not taking his eyes off Toby. He didn't know what else to say besides, "You wouldn't understand" and "It doesn't concern you".

Why did the boy care so much?

Toby grumbled to himself, finally giving in to the urge to roll his eyes. He placed his elbow up on the table once more and rested his chin in his hand. "Why is it that when I _don't _want to know something, you give me the blunt truth, but when I do, you get all secretive?"

Sweeney honestly didn't know how to reply to that. Had he really been being that inconsiderate? It _was _personal space that Toby was just getting ready to invade. But Sweeney had never meant to completely discourage the boy from being curious and trying.

Benjamin Barker was very curious at a younger age, perhaps even more naive than Toby.

_Look where that led him. _Sweeney added in bitterly.

"Sir?" Toby squinted through the candlelight.

Sweeney finally gave a reply..and quite a lame one at that, "...I don't know." His voice was dead monotone again, and he stared over Toby's shoulder with a blank expression on his face.

Toby sighed, lowering his gaze to place it upon the table's surface. "Of course you don't." He crossed his arms over the table and rested his head on top of them.

They sat there in silence for a while.

But the silence was soon broken by the sound of shoes loudly pattering against the cobblestone pavement outside. Sweeney averted his eyes from the random place that they had comfortably settled on to daydream and glanced out the window over his shoulder. He spotted the dark figure of a person walking quite close to the shop. Toby couldn't help but feel like this person's build and outline was a bit...familiar.

"Who'd be out this late, I wonder?" Sweeney muttered, still not with much emotion in his voice.

Toby shrugged it off quickly. "Who knows?" He wasn't able to hide the daring smile that was growing fast across his lips as he added, "Maybe a couple'a criminals. You know...like us."  
>Sweeney paused for a moment, his shoulders stiffening only slightly, until he finally flashed Toby an evil smile, almost a grin. "They <em>do <em>stay out late like this, don't they, them creeps?"

Toby was surprised to find himself laughing at this. "Yes, sir. Just like this." He really didn't know why he suddenly found all this so amusing. It was one of those times where something would be so awful that it soon grew bitterly hilarious.

"Should go out right now and ask a few of 'em if they ever had to throw a brain into an oven." Sweeney added, his words still very grim, though terribly good-natured.

Toby's smile grew wider, and he laughed yet again.

Something urged Sweeney to laugh along with him, as he felt that giddy feeling that he hadn't felt in so long already rising into his chest. It'd be a good release after all those days of sulking...even if it wouldn't help much with that dark, classy dignity of his that he tended to hold quite dear.

However, a loud banging noise against the side door interrupted them. They only caught a second or two long glimpse of the face outside the window, because who ever it was ducked down out of sight and sped off into the shadows. Toby drew back in alarm, and Sweeney jumped to his feet, flashed out his razor, and snapped right back into 'serial killer mode'. The parchment that was still on his lap slipped off onto the floor, and he stalked across the room to glare out the window. He couldn't see anyone out there.

"Hey.." Toby murmured. "..that looked a little like...Luke. Didn't it?"

"What would he want?" Sweeney nearly whispered.

Toby shrugged again. "Maybe he's a criminal too." He joked, his smile returning.

Sweeney didn't look as amused this time. Instead, he turned around to give the young lad a stern glare. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

"I'm not tired." The boy complained.

"Do whatever, then." Sweeney turned to open the door. "Just stay in." He stepped out into the night, still casting suspicious glances from left to right. He held his unsheathed razor behind his back as he went.

Toby watched after him, confused.

_Stay in? Is he _worried_ about me?_

He shifted uncomfortably in the booth, only to run his foot into something crinkly under the table. He glanced down and spotted the parchment. Mr. Todd forgot it.

Quickly, Toby grabbed it and looked it over. The only name he found familiar on there was Anthony Hope, the young man that would come to the pie shop every now and again with an always frantic expression on his face. He'd bust through the door and exclaim, "Mr. Todd!" every time. Sweeney would always take him into another room as an oppose to where ever they were, and Toby never found out why the man visited so much. It sometimes appeared that their friendship was a one way thing, and absolutely nothing more; Sweeney didn't always look at his happiest when the man would show up. Always seeming to hold an expression of annoyance or sometimes even..slight pain.

The other name that seemed faintly familiar was Johanna. Toby never saw Johanna...at least he didn't think so. He'd often hear murmurs of the name rolling off of Mr. Todd's and Mrs. Lovett's conversations. Who _was_ Johanna, though?

"_She claims (and I highly doubt it) that you were covered in blood and holding a equally bloody razor up like a maniac, getting ready to slash her with it. It was obviously a misunderstanding though, right?" _This sentence caught Toby's attention.

"Wrong." He threw in somberly, giving a very weak smile. He now assumed Johanna was one of the people in which Mr. Todd had been plotting to murder. But...would he really tire of Anthony so that, he'd kill his wife? Oh yeah, Toby also assumed that Anthony and Johanna were together as well. There didn't seem to be any other explanation.

"'Ey!"

Toby jumped.

Mr. Todd was back, and glaring at him so hard that the boy had to look away to protect his eyes from the daggers the demon was mentally shooting at him.

* * *

><p><strong>Oh yes, because Sweeney's GOT to shoot something pointy at Toby in some way or another, physically or...in this case, mentally.<strong>

**Oh and, if you didn't understand at a few parts, here...**

**Okay, Toby now goes on to believe Sweeney went to prison for his own murderous ways. He also thinks that Johanna was another person Sweeney wanted dead, because of reading the letter. OH, and...this takes place a few days after the previous chapter. So, they didn't just receive the letter like..a few minutes later, or anything. xD**

**Review, please! I have the next one half done, so...I'll probably have it finished and ready in just a little while. **


	7. Give That Back To Me, Alive

**Prepare for oddness, I guess...**

**Eh, you'll understand why by the end of the chapter.**

* * *

><p>"How <em>dare <em>you." Sweeney hissed through gritted teeth.  
>"I just wanted to see-"<br>"That doesn't make it any more right!"

Toby flinched.

Mr. Todd walked over in only a few strides to grab the parchment away.

"You forgot it," Toby pointed out flatly. "it obviously didn't mean _that _much to-" He was cut off when he found himself being lifted about a foot off the ground, Sweeney gripping the front of his shirt with a fierce gleam in his cold eyes.

"...You have _no _idea what it even has to do with me." The barber growled. "I'd suggest lying low when going about these things...never know when you might be _wrong_." He let go of the front of Toby's shirt collar abruptly, causing the boy to stumble backwards into the table.

Sweeney glared at him for another few heartbeats before clenching his fist around the letter and turning on his heels to storm out the side door again. Toby watched after him, his hand on his chest as he leaned against the table. He felt the rapid pound of his heart again. Sometimes he'd consider the fact that he and his heart were two different beings. Toby could especially tell now, because while he was seething with anger, his heart sounded frightened. It almost convinced Toby to be frightened along with it.

_Almost_.

Sweeney forced the door to his tonsorial parlor open, rage building in him again. He slammed the door shut with a loud bang behind him, and crumpled the parchment up into a ball to sharply fling it over his shoulder as he went. He then paced over to the mirror. The cracked, broken mirror that matched his cracked, broken reflection. In one swift movement, he turned it over onto its side with a scream of anger that _nearly _drowned out the sound of glass breaking further. In another quick second, he grabbed the razor he had just returned to his belt a few minutes ago and chucked it at the wall. The gleaming silver didn't break, however, even when it hit the floor with a clattering noise; it never did.

Even so, Sweeney could still feel the two remaining halves of his heart crumbling further at the sight of his 'friend' laying on the cold, wooden floor, limp without his touch. Willing himself to calm down, Sweeney came back to stand in the middle of the room which was bathed in moonlight from the window, only absentmindedly noting the small shards of glass from the mirror that were crackling under his feet. His legs soon gave out from under him, and he dropped down onto his knees, only to gasp with pain at the feel of the daggers digging into his flesh.

After a moment, he picked up the now-mangled razor that he had thrown and began stroking it, muttering his apologies. He felt a terrible ache in his chest at the sight of a scratch on the once-clear blade that had snapped open when it hit the floor.

He wanted to die.

There was nothing he wanted more.

He wanted to die.

His breathing grew shaky again, and he knew what was threatening to come next. Much to his mild shock, however, instead of suppressing or restraining them, he welcomed them: tears.

He dipped his head submissively and closed his dark eyes, letting them freely fall down his cheeks and nose. They dripped onto the floor, quickly soaking into the wood.

As long as no one was there to see, besides his 'friends', he was absolutely fine with giving in to this release that he had, in fact, been waiting a long while for.

He finally lifted a bleeding hand from the glass-littered floor and wiped away the next few tears that had begun to flow, smearing the blood over one side of his face.

When he'd clean himself up next, he didn't know. He just...he just didn't care anymore.

"..._Toby_...?"

A familiar, sing-song voice echoed through the sewers.

Toby lifted his head from the darkness, listening as the barber and the baker called his name.

"..._Where are you, love?_..."

"Toby?" Mr. Todd's gruff, harsh voice came after.

"_Nothing's gonna 'arm you...not while I'm around." _Mrs. Lovett's pretty voice brought warmth to Toby's heart..but only for an instant.

They..they...why were there human _hands _in the bakehouse? Why were there human _carcasses _alongside them?

Why were there human _fingers _in the pies?

"_Nothing's gonna 'arm you, no sir...not while I'm around."_

Toby didn't want to hear anymore...

_Why did Mum lock me in? How could she?_

_How _could _she?_

"How could you?"

Toby jerked awake, his cheek resting against the table. His head shot up, and he looked around to realize that it was morning. He hardly remembered anything about last night. The familiar figure outside the shop was one of the things he remembered quite clearly, however. Oh, and how could he forget earning a place on Sweeney's bad side? (...yet _again_...)

He supposed he should have gone up and tried to make up with the demon barber. Perhaps be the more mature one. He knew Sweeney would never say "I forgive you" to anyone, because...well, wasn't his whole purpose just that? "Never forget. Never forgive". It was chilling.

Toby sighed. _No harm in trying._

He slid out of the booth and made his way over to the side door again. As he stepped out, the fresh, morning air met him. The sky was surprisingly not as gray and cloudy as usual.

_Unusual. _Toby shrugged, pulling himself along up the stairs. He finally reached the top, full of energy from getting so much sleep, and he hesitantly knocked on the barber shop door.

Silence followed.

Just as Toby was about to do it again, a low, acknowledging grunt sounded.

Toby quickly pulled the door open and gaped at the sight:

There were pieces of glass all over the floor, along with a puddle of fresh blood. The cracked mirror off to the side of the room was turned over, more broken than ever. Mr. Todd himself was sitting at the desk just behind the barber's chair, writing something on a new piece of parchment. His clothes were covered in blood, as was one side of his face. He didn't look up as Toby entered.

Toby realized with a jolt that, judging by the many cuts on the barber's hand, it was his _own _blood for once.

"S-sir?" He stammered.

Sweeney's head only lifted a little, his expression absolutely blank.

"What-what's happened to you, sir?" Toby whispered, unable to keep the shock from his voice. Sweeney didn't reply right away. He simply continued to write as if Toby had never spoken.

Toby knew by now, however, that the barber would get to him in a moment. He leaned against the wall, waiting.

Finally, Sweeney stopped. He rose from the _normal _chair that he sat in to face Toby. "...What do you want?" His voice gave nothing away, it being dark and emotionless as usual.

Thinking that they were already off to a good start, (there wasn't a razor to his throat yet, he must have done something good, right?) Toby breathed in before speaking. "I jus' wanted to say I was sorry. I shouldn't 'ave read the letter."

"Why not?" Sweeney pressed.

Toby blinked in surprise for a moment. "...Be-because you told me not to...?"

"Mm," Sweeney seemed satisfied with this answer, because he turned away to gaze out the window with a small smile on his face. "you _do _learn."

"Er," Toby shrugged; it wasn't exactly a "I forgive you", but it would do. "thanks, I guess."

"You guess?" Sweeney looked bitterly unimpressed again, and Toby realized that he should have already quit while he was ahead.

"Never mind." The boy shook his head. "Are we going to keep cleaning?"

Mr. Todd slowly nodded.

"Eh..you should clean yourself up a bit first, don't you think?" Toby suggested timidly. "You're-you're covered with blood again."

"Hm," Sweeney narrowed his eyes. "s'not like I won't be when we're done by the end of the day." He nodded once. "But I suppose so."

"All r-right, well...see you down stairs then." Toby turned to the door and quickly made his way out, quite glad with himself for handling it so well.

_Was Mr. Todd bloody mauling himself last night?_

Why would the barber be covered in his own blood?

Toby thought the demon only savored others' blood. He proved that while murdering all of those people. Had he meant to rip his own flesh though? _Normal _people don't usually try to...

But wait...

Mr. Todd wasn't normal.

It was so true, it was stupid.

Sweeney grabbed the extra rag for cleaning his razors (which had less bloodstains on it) from his desk and wiped the blood from the side of his face. Oh, just another rag to wash off. He'd have to remind Toby to let him soil the perfectly clean water in the bucket beforehand, as he'd need to get the blood off first. What was the point of cleaning blood off the walls with an already bloodied-up rag, anyhow?

Surprisingly, he didn't get any blood on his sleeves like he usually did, and so after taking one last look at himself in the mirror on his desk, he turned around and headed out. He made his way down the stairs and, once again, saw people standing across the street.

Mr. Todd flashed them a polite smile (that he, of course, did _not _mean in the least) and turned to open the side door. The first thing he saw didn't surprise him terribly: Toby stood behind the counter with a small glass of gin that he was almost finished with. After a few moments of hesitation, Sweeney asked something that even shocked him:

"When's the last time you ate, boy?"  
>Toby glanced up with round eyes. It was his turn to give a silent reply.<p>

"The last time you ate," Sweeney said more clearly, realizing that the first time he said it, it was more of a jumble of words that hadn't really made any sense. "when was it?"

Anyone could have spotted the hurt that flashed through the young boy's eyes at this question. Even a blind person who stood a mile away could have pointed it out. Sweeney did at his best to pretend like he didn't notice.

"'Bout...uh..'round the morning of the day that...that Mum locked me in the bakehouse."

For some reason, Sweeney's blood ran cold. That was two days ago at least!  
>"You tellin' me you've been living off of gin since then?" He glared at Toby sternly.<p>

"I..I haven't really been feeling like eating, sir." Toby mumbled.

Sweeney thought he was the only one that was able to go for days without food, but he supposed if one really pushed it...

He suddenly felt a pang of..._sympathy? _Where the bloody Hell did _that_ come from? And wait, was that _guilt _too?

_Yeah, well done, Mr. T. You made a little boy starve 'imself._

He growled at the sound of that familiar voice playing through his mind again, but didn't respond. He couldn't respond...not while Toby was there, anyway.

"Well," He forced a gruff tone out again. "go make yourself something."

"...Funny, you act like y'care." Toby was gazing at him with a half daring, half serious look on his face.

Sweeney stiffened only slightly. He had an unreadable expression on his face, and he threw in without a whole lot of effort, "Why would I want you to die?" He assumed that was what Toby had meant.

"We _all _deserve to die, remember?" Toby gave him a somber smile.

Sweeney's eyes widened with...concern.

He stalked over to the boy.

Toby cringed, waiting for a slap.

He felt nothing.

Nothing but the cold feel of Sweeney's hand against his shoulder.

"You.." Mr. Todd said with obvious difficulty. "...you don't deserve to die..."  
>Just as Toby was getting ready to smile, the barber added in quickly, "Not yet, anyway." The smile was kinda...wiped away again. It didn't surprise Toby a great deal though.<p>

"Uh...o-okay," Was all he could stammer after a moment, already beginning to shiver under the barber's touch.

Sweeney took his hand away abruptly and drew back, taking that previous gentle gesture and turning it ice cold, just like he usually did. He quickly turned away and stormed back over to the doorway to grip the wall with one hand; leaving Toby to be frightened of it crumbling soon enough.

"If you aren't hungry," Mr. Todd now spoke in a clearer-than-usual voice. "come down here and help me." He turned back around to glare at Toby again. "Just don't faint. You could just imagine how that'd come as an inconvenience to me." It just wasn't a problem for _him_ anymore. He got past the fainting stage a long while ago, as much as Mrs. Lovett had tried to prevent it. He didn't need food anymore, just like a ghost didn't

Toby was young and weak though, usually more so than he'd care to admit. He'd most likely need it sooner or later. That was one thing they had in common, but just didn't realize so. They were _both_ stubborn. They'd never give in. (With an exception for Toby who might've given in as a last and shameful resort)

"Right." Toby casted him a gaze that seemed to say _"I don't need food if you don't." _

Sweeney held back a sneer and led the boy back into the bakehouse after grabbing a bucket and filling it with water, like before. It was a shame they only had one...

"Hold it."

The barber dunked the two bloodstained cloths into the water, and Toby's eyes widened with dismay.

"Hey!"

"Just take it." Sweeney growled, before the boy could protest further. He shoved one of them into Toby's grasp. "At least it's clean."

"I think we need something sturdier to clean with." Toby remarked.

"Well, we haven't _got _anything sturdier." Sweeney rose back to his full height after crouching down and turned his back on the boy. "S'not the cloth's fault it ain't sturdy. Scrub faster. That's your problem." He walked over to the nearest wall next to the door and began scrubbing the endless amount of thick, dried blood that clung there like moss.

Toby felt irritation and annoyance welling up in him again; the barber was struggling just as badly as he was with using the rags, and he just wasn't admitting to it. Mainly because he knew full well that Toby thought the same thing.

_Is it _that_ bad to have to agree with me? The rags are for cleanin' blood off of straight razors, not for- _He cut his own thoughts off. _...oh, he's startin' to rub off on me!_

Toby shook his head miserably and glumly walked over to the wall just beside the oven, where he had been scrubbing yesterday. Of course, he just couldn't get a few steps in without hearing the rough, oddly sarcastic voice from behind for the life of him, "Slow down, boy. Let the slugs catch up."  
>Toby let out a small growl of his own and unhappily slapped the cloth onto the wall, frowning at the way it didn't exactly glide over the blood-coated surface. He needed to press down hard.<p>

Why was Mr. Todd treating him like this all of a sudden? Was he really being more sluggish than usual, or was the demon barber especially impatient today? Toby looked on the second one with a more inward nod. That sounded more like it.

It was no wonder he had felt like doing something a 'step too far' in Sweeney's eyes ever since they met with one another again this morning. Not anything rash. Just something that would get on the barber's nerves...even if that was mostly everything already besides his razors. Toby had already considered taking the pale of water and splashing the blood-mixed contents over Mr. Todd's head. He abandoned that one quickly though, as it'd most likely result in a definite slash to the windpipe. He soon went into deep thought, absentmindedly putting weight on his arms as he pushed down on the cloth which was pressed against the wall, slowly and steadily dragging it across the surface and scraping the dried blood off layer by layer.

It was only a few minutes later that Toby had to turn and head back over to the bucket to at least _try _and get some of the dried chunks of blood off.

_Gross..._

Mr. Todd was already there, his sleeves rolled up once more. Toby still felt as though he had a bone to pick with him, and tried to avert his eyes away from the scars; he'd just feel sympathy again if he stared for too long. He knelt down and waited for the barber to finish, which didn't take very long. Sweeney pulled out the rag and, just like the day before, scowled. He was cursing under his breath while Toby put his cloth in.

"I don't see why you're so upset with it," Toby muttered after a moment. "The chunks are gone. We're just lookin' for that, and then we can clean the thinner liquid from the floor later."  
>"No...this..this won't do." Sweeney growled. His eyes flared, and he looked as though he were on the verge of another 'epiphany'...but then his head hung low again. Toby realized in amusement that the demon barber had nothing for once.<p>

"...Go fill it up again, lad."

For some reason, this order sent Toby's blood boiling.

However, it quickly melted down to haughtiness, most likely for his inner, better judgement.

"What if I don't?"

Sweeney held back a small look of shock before muttering lowly, almost dangerously, "Is that supposed to scare me?"

"You-you tell me." Toby shot back, unable to keep the slight nervousness from his voice.

Mr. Todd narrowed his eyes in a look of confusion now. It was one thing for the boy to challenge him. But...to _follow through with it?_  
>"I don't think you <em>want <em>to be doing this, boy." He murmured. This usually worked. The lad would always squeak his frightened agreement, too afraid to challenge further after hearing the barber's dangerously low tone.

Toby held a look of determination in his eyes, though he wasn't sure of what to say now. Instead, he jerkily reached into the bucket, not really thinking with common sense anymore, and flashed it out a second later, flinging a handful of water at the barber. He wasn't really aiming for anywhere in particular, though he couldn't help but feel slightly pleased that it had splashed into Mr. Todd's face.

Sweeney stumbled backwards out of shock, only landing halfway onto his back before he sprung up again swiftly and brought his razor out. He _was _aiming for somewhere though. Somewhere that would...make things rather hard to breathe for the boy if he actually landed the sharp tip into -

"What!"

Toby had seen this coming, and he yanked the razor away, glaring daggers now. He held the shiny object behind his back, leaving Sweeney to stare at him now, dumbstruck...but only for an instant.

_He's handing that back to me, one way or another. And he sure as hell can't do it if he's dead._

With a swift movement to match Toby's, Sweeney took the entire bucket and dumped it over the boy's head with speed that he hadn't really cared to put into a movement since he had been slitting throats in his tonsorial parlor. Toby's grip on the razor tightened, cringing against the wetness that seeped through his clothes now. He tried to look as though it hadn't fazed him..but hiding the shock that was written across his face was one of the hardest tasks he had ever endured. Did he succeed?

Hell no.

Sweeney gave a small intake of breath, meeting the boy's gaze. Toby looked absolutely pathetic and...dare he say it.._priceless._

Before he could register the fact that he needed to suppress it, a chuckle rose into his chest, and quickly escaped his mouth. Toby's legs were screaming at him to get up and run; this was obviously some sort of trick. He couldn't help but stare though, it being his turn to grow bewildered. Sweeney seemed to be more sitting now than kneeling, his head dipped to stare down at the floor. He was shaking violently, and Toby was debating on whether or not the barber was struggling against a bout or fit of some sort. The boy's eyes grew round, however, when he faintly noticed through the shadows that Mr. Todd had a wide grin spread across his face. It took him a moment longer to recognize the way the barber was moving.

He was...he was _laughing?_

Yes..that was it. And by the looks of it, it was coming down on him pretty hard, and quite fast. Toby could tell that he was struggling to put a word forward, or even take a breath. So he leaned back and gave a small smile, waiting for the demon to balance his breathing out again.

Sweeney did his best to cut it off, but once he started, it was quite hard to stop. He breathed in and out a couple times, and lifted his head to smirk at Toby. That old, fiery glint in his dark eyes had returned. It used to send eerie chills down Toby's spine in the past...but now, he couldn't really think of it as anything _but_ a positive.

"...Give that back, lad." The barber's voice had an amused tinge to it that he didn't seem to be trying to hide now.

Toby smiled and handed the razor over. He almost forgot the fact that he was dripping with bloody water.

Sweeney let out a content sigh as he ran his fingers over the blade, examining it. He still had his eyes pinned on it, even when he raised his other hand to wipe away the water that Toby had flung into his face. A smile now seemed to be frozen across his lips. That was rare.

But Toby, in all his pleasure, was afraid to speak; all you really needed to do was make a mistake mid-speech, trip over your words, or bring up a forbidden subject of some sort, and it'd send the barber right back into uncontrollable rage.

It didn't appear that anything would bring Sweeney down at that moment though. He stared at the razor for a moment longer before turning to cast Toby a look that.._sort of _resembled a smile. It still held that dark, sinister look, but mostly because of the redness under his eyes, as well as the ghostly pale skin. His eyes suddenly didn't look as dark and empty though. Toby could have sworn he even spotted a hint of warmth deep within them.

_Very _deep within.

Sweeney rolled down his sleeves and placed the razor back into his holster, rising back to his feet. Toby hesitantly followed, noticing the barber having forgotten the bucket.

"Would it be too much to ask of you to carry that back up?" Mr. Todd muttered, his eyes still glinting in the darkness of the room.

Toby couldn't stop a smile. _That _sounded more like Sweeney Todd. He just wasn't ordering or demanding anymore, which was good.

"No." The boy replied, picking the bucket up. He nearly dropped it at the sound of shoes running along the floor though. He glanced up.

Sweeney was still standing near him: he was glaring suspiciously at the doorway.

"There's someone out there." He murmured.

"W-what?" Toby blinked.

"Follow my lead." Sweeney breathed, making his way for the door.

Toby followed silently.

Up in the shop, they heard a door being slammed.

"Damn." Mr. Todd growled.

Toby sighed. "..Did you get a look at the person?"  
>"Not this time." Sweeney muttered. "Come on." He stormed back up the stairs, a frustrated glare on his face. He seemed to have already forgotten about the exchange between him and Toby. The...the friendly..<em>happy <em>exchange.

However, just as Toby was about to make the glum gesture of hanging his head, he noticed the _two _gleams of silver on Mr. Todd's belt from in front of him.

He...he had _two _razors? He didn't make for the second one when Toby grabbed the first! Why was that?

"...Sir?" Toby spoke up.

Sweeney grunted in acknowledgement.

"If you had two razors, why didn't you just slash me then and there?"

The barber stiffened.

They reached the top of the stairs before Mr. Todd turned around and gazed at Toby hard. He murmured after a moment, "No one's ever grabbed a razor from me before." His words were solemn, and deadly serious. "As _shocked _as I was," Toby could have sworn he saw the corners of the barber's mouth faintly threatening to tug up at these words, though he did too well to restrain it. "you _were_ givin' that back to me."

Sweeney gave Toby a gruff, good-natured shove to the shoulder before turning away and adding in with a darker tone, "You probably couldn't have been able to do such things if you were dead."  
>Toby narrowed his eyes; he spotted a somewhat unsure, shifty movement within the demon's gaze. That statement sounded so Sweeney Todd-like. But...for once, he didn't think the serial killer himself was agreeing with it as much as he insisted so.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Told you so!<strong>

**Feeling kinda disgruntled by all the mixed up emotions yet? Need I remind you of all the depression/anger/hilarity all fitted into one chapter? **

**Wow, Sweeney just has drastic mood swings in this one, doesn't he? I'll admit, I do think I made him a tad too**_**...dramatic**_** at the beginning. Though, you have to also admit that seeing him in such a broken state is a bit more realistic if dealing with a regular human being (sort of making up for all those health-declining things that he does, like never eating or sleeping). I was aiming for him to be a tad more real, I guess, in this chapter at least. The most depressing thing about him is: he can have as many breakdowns as he can manage, smash and break things, sob endlessly, and so on...and it still wont ever really make up for all the shit he's been through, excuse my language. But the point of the beginning of this chapter is that...well..I suppose the actual reality of this whole tragic incident somewhat dawned on him. It crashed down on him all at once, and it was just too much for him to bear this time. Not just what drove him into becoming a murderer, but all the confusion and lies that followed. **

**Now...about him experiencing laughter again on the very same chapter?...(which also seems pretty out of place)...I don't know. xD I guess I just ended up making myself feel sorry for him. We can't deny the fact that he **_**does**_** need it, right? Weirding Toby out a bit is something else I enjoy doing a lot, so...I can't say it was all and entirely for Sweeney's sake, either.**

**I apologize for all this at the end. xD Like I said, I talk A LOT. **

**Look out for the next chapter real soon!**


	8. The First Threat

**Oh yes, another chapter. I just enjoy flashing these out left and right, quite like Sweeney with his razors...**

**Anyway, here's another chapter.**

* * *

><p>Toby made his way down the cobblestone street, heading for the market. He had agreed with Mr. Todd to meet back at the shop around noon...if they could manage it. It wasn't incredibly hard to begin learning that they didn't function very well together. They always had Mrs. Lovett to sort out any quarrels or disagreements. Now all they had was, say..."Do what Mr. Todd says" or, more formally said, "Do what Mr. Todd says, or die". Only rarely would it be, "Who ever gets there first", or, "Who ever gets to the razors quick enough". He could go on for hours, naming all these little 'games' that he and Mr. Todd had started playing practically the moment they realized that they were stuck together. Most of them pretty unpleasant, if Toby said so himself. And it was only a day after their oddly pleasant exchange in the bakehouse. Mr. Todd, of course, went back to his regular self. He <em>had <em>changed a little, whether he hadn't noticed yet, or just wouldn't admit it.

While Toby was shopping for stuff that only he would most likely use, Sweeney was taking a letter that he had obviously written in reply to the other to mail. He was pretty secretive about it, as usual. Toby knew better than to question him about it, not really feeling like getting on his bad side again for a while. But then again, he had more to worry about now.

He soon met with the large crowd of people who were walking around the marketplace, desperately hoping that no one would recognize him as the thief from two days ago. Negative attention was the last thing he needed now. Keeping an eye out for Luke was definitely on the top of his list of things to make sure of doing. Along with getting something thicker than a cloth to scrub the walls with...

* * *

><p>"It looks fairly nice now," Johanna remarked, leaning against the wall of their new living room with a wide smile across her face. "one room down."<br>"And quite a few more to go." Anthony reminded her.

"It'll be worth it." Johanna walked over to rap her arms around him. "But Anthony," She began, breathing out wearily. "we've been working for a while. Why don't we go out for a walk?"  
>"Sounds good to me." Anthony smiled.<p>

The couple made their way outside without even the slightest hesitation. There was just no need to hesitate anymore.

Johanna grabbed Anthony's hand in her own as they walked down the street, "It's very nice here."  
>"I know."<p>

The sky was a bright shade of blue, quite unlike the sky above Fleet Street. It was...wonderful. It certainly brightened their already upbeat moods.

"I'm so glad we did this," The young sailor breathed, leaning down only slightly as they walked to kiss Johanna on the head. "All thanks to Mr. Todd, too. An-"  
>"Anthony, please." Johanna shook her head, her expression turning from happiness to a look of misery. "I don't feel like talking about him."<br>"He should be writing back soon enough." Anthony weaved his fingers into hers, squeezing her hand tighter. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I promise you. I'd never mess around anyone who intended on hurting you."

"He looked pretty sly," Johanna muttered. "sure he didn't fool you into trusting him?"  
>"I rescued him." Anthony told her, also for what was to be the third time. "He trusts me, and I definitely trust him. Just give him a second chance, at least." He still didn't exactly believe her. Mr. Todd would never hurt Johanna. He knew how much she meant to Anthony.<p>

Besides; he was a barber. Johanna talked about him like he was some sort of homicidal maniac.

As if!

* * *

><p>"Get out an' stay out, you bloody thief!"<p>

Toby was struck with a broom, and he stumbled out from the stand in which he had stolen from two days earlier. It was a different person this time who was standing behind it, however, and so he assumed the news had spread of his thieving.  
><em>Great...<em>

He backed off, turning away to hide back within the crowd.

"Bad luck." A cocky, familiar voice came straight to his ears.

Toby gasped and flipped around, only to feel a hand immediately slap over his mouth to keep him from talking, or...screaming.

Another hand grabbed him around the shoulders and pulled him through the crowd, forced to walk long enough until they reached an alley. Toby was slammed up against the brick wall and pinned there. He glared up, only with slight fear, into Luke's greenish blue eyes that stared right back at him quite coldly.

"What're you doing back 'ere?" The teenager demanded. "I _did_ tell ya stealin' was bad." He smirked wickedly.

Toby blinked up at him, finally taking in Luke's appearance, as he hadn't really been paying much attention before. He was fairly handsome, actually, if you looked past the poorly kept blonde hair and obvious wild, crazed eyes. He wore a white shirt with a casual (though scruffy-looking) light brown waistcoat over it. His sleeves were caked with dirt. He looked as though he were around the age of either sixteen or seventeen.  
>"I'm not here to steal!" Toby exclaimed, his voice rising to a higher pitch as he finally replied. "I'm shopping."<br>"Ah," Luke looked away for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "for your father, I presume?"

"What?" Toby blinked.

"The barber."

"He's not my father." Toby's heart skipped a beat.

"You sure?" Luke grinned. "Or are you jus' too ashamed to admit it?"  
>"Why would I be ashamed?" It was Toby's turn to narrow his eyes suspiciously.<p>

"Oh, no reason."

"No, why?"  
>"You'll find out soon enough." Luke took his hand away, his smug expression still remaining.<p>

Toby stared at him. Was he referring to Mr. Todd's murderous business? If so, he already knew too well.

"Anyway," Luke went on. "if you're asking _why_ ya should be ashamed, 'e obviously means something to you, doesn't 'e?"  
>"We actually don't get along that well, for your information." Toby crossed his arms over his chest and glared out into the street.<p>

"Oh really?" Luke smirked once more, this time for a reason Toby didn't understand.

"...Just leave me be." Toby muttered, turning away. He made for the alley entrance, but the feel of Luke's rough hand clamping over his shoulder stopped him again.

"I'd be careful over the next few days, if I were you," The teenager whispered. "you never know when someone you thought was a friend will turn on you."

"Turn on me?"  
>"There you go again."<br>"Look," Toby was getting frustrated. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"My place is not to be telling you." Luke sneered. "You're going daft if you think I'll be-"

"Why're you telling me this then?" Toby demanded.

Luke shook his head and backed off. "You'll find out soon enough." He sped off from the alley before Toby could protest further.

"Ugh..." The boy groaned, closing his eyes and pushing himself up against the wall once more; he suddenly felt sick.

What was Luke up to? In a sense, that last sentence he worded before leaving sounded a bit like...a threat.

* * *

><p>Sweeney was leaning against the wall of the pie shop, grumbling to himself lowly. Once again, it wasn't meant for anyone to hear. Anyone, however, could make out the small bit about damning Toby to Hell for being late.<p>

Was he worrying?

_Of course not!_

It was just slightly..._unnerving_ that the boy would take this long. Why would he -

"Mr. T?"

Sweeney snapped his head around to glare at the young lad who had entered quite abruptly.

"I was waiting." He said absently.

"Sorry." Toby's expression fell glum.

Sweeney gave him an odd look before pushing off from the wall and stalking across the room to inspect when he noticed the boy was carrying a flimsy-looking bag. "What is that?" He muttered, using the same exact tone he used when asking Mrs. Lovett the same exact question in the same exact room when the idea of cannibalism popped up.

Maybe _that _was why he seemed to keep stumbling upon memories from not very long ago by simply carrying out the little things that he still did.

"Just a-a few things that I picked up.." Toby mumbled in reply. His mind was clearly on something far from the subject at hand.

Sweeney narrowed his eyes and grabbed the bag away (which wasn't very hard, because it would most likely fall from Toby's grasp if the boy's grip on it grew any looser) to begin taking out what was inside.

He pulled out a few things that he was expecting to see, most of it being fruit. Toby wasn't even looking at him anymore. He just walked over to the booth and sat down in it to rest his elbow on the table like many times before, and lean his forehead into his hand. His head was starting to hurt.

Sweeney picked out two sponges, and he almost smiled; Toby would sure go to great lengths in order to make a point.

"I..I wasn't able to get any bread." Toby threw in quietly, not even looking up.

"I can see that." Sweeney murmured, finally understanding that something was clearly wrong. He hesitantly grabbed an apple that he had placed on the counter and walked over to sit opposite Toby, taking a haste-filled bite out of the fruit without even really thinking about it. Toby looked up, and his eyes widened only slightly in surprise to actually see the barber eating something for once. Sweeney was only doing it because he couldn't think of anything else to do at that moment, and Toby wasn't making things much better. But only after one bite - just like the immediate sadness from yesterday - hunger crashed over him. He tried not to show this on the outside, even if he figured that Toby already assumed that after he finished the entire apple completely.

"Good?" Toby's voice was lightly amused.

Sweeney didn't know how to respond to that without sounding friendly, so he just gave a tiny nod, his expression blank. Truthfully, he felt as though a long dead part of him was suddenly revived, even if only a little. It was actually the most alive he felt health-wise for a while. Toby was aware of this, and he gave a faint smile, leaning back in the booth. His body relaxed a little, as an oppose to it being terribly tensed up before.

"Sir?" He began, his voice switching back to something near a whisper.

"Yes?"  
>"When...when Luke saw you slittin' that one customer's throat...what did you say and do to keep him from running to the law?"<p>

Sweeney paused, then rose an eyebrow at him. "What do you _think _I did?"

Toby stared at him for a moment longer before a cynical glare replaced his weary expression. "I should have known."  
>"You should've." Sweeney agreed, his voice now more of a sneer as he turned away.<p>

"Yeah..you did the only thing you knew 'ow to do."

"_What?_" Sweeney's hand twitched towards his razor holster from under the table.

"I think y'heard me." Toby said smoothly.

Mr. Todd blinked at him, anger building in him again. This boy was clearly beginning to lose interest in watching his tongue.

"Listen," Toby lowered his voice. "...Luke's up to something."  
>"Where did you get that idea?" Sweeney grumbled.<p>

"He caught me on the street. That's why I was...sorta late." Toby paused for a moment, then went on worriedly, "I think he has a bone to pick with you." He glared at Mr. Todd. "It obviously has to do with what you said to him."  
>"Oh," Sweeney rolled his eyes. "He was a little naive brat at the time. I could've killed him. But I-"<br>"Chose not to?" Toby blinked back shock. "..E-even after he saw...?"  
>"Yes." Sweeney glared down at the floor. "I think he ran away from home to go living on the streets." He gave another irritable sigh. "God knows why."<p>

"What _did _you say to him?" Toby questioned, raising an eye brow.

"Hm," Sweeney suppressed a smirk. "I told him that if he even _dares _breathe a word to the law, I'd be wiping his entrails off my little 'friend' faster than he could grab for his mangled windpipe."

"That's encouraging." Toby muttered.

"What did you expect me to do?" Sweeney demanded. "I thought you were against killing."  
>"Well.." Toby shifted uncomfortably. "..if he's gonna cause us trouble now.."<br>"You..." Sweeney straightened, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth again. "...you really want this lad dead."  
>"Why didn't you kill him?" Toby snapped, wanting to get onto another subject.<p>

Sweeney stiffened, and his smile vanished. He sat a bit lower once he finally replied, "...He was just a..a daft young lad who came in at the wrong time."

"You didn't think he_ deserved_ to die?"  
>"...No."<p>

Toby held back a look of shock. "Did-did you know _why_ he even came in?"

"I didn't ask." Sweeney replied gruffly. "I just left him with that warning, and then told him to get out before I executed it."

Toby swallowed nervously, his fingers drumming the table in an anxious manner. "Surely you can warn him again..tell him to leave us alone?"  
>"If he was making small talk with you, which is what it sounds like, he's obviously up to something far more complicated." Sweeney pointed out. "What else did he say?"<br>"He...he thought you were...my-my father." Toby managed to say in a weak, lame tone. "I don't see where he got that idea." He added in quickly before Mr. Todd could say anything.

Sweeney gave a distasteful sniff, but he didn't push that topic further. For that, Toby was grateful. That'd be an awkward conversation in itself. Why had Luke even brought up what he thought of Mr. Todd? It wasn't like it mattered...right?

"He's still a young boy, like you." Sweeney murmured. "Don't let him get to you."

Toby lifted his head out of shock; the barber's voice had a strangely comforting tone hidden deep within it. It was just faintly noticable if one listened hard enough.

He just didn't feel like cornering him about it now though. He'd let the demon barber get off easy this time.

"He told me that'd he'd be careful if he were me." Toby continued.

"The nerve." Sweeney growled.

"Yeah." Toby yawned, stretching a bit before adding in thoughtfully, "You know, you're okay...when you're agreeing with me, anyway."

"Hm.." Sweeney narrowed his eyes in thought, then lazily rose back to his feet to walk back over to the counter, grab a pear, and fling it at Toby.

"'Ey!" The boy yelped, the piece of fruit slamming into his chest and knocking the breath from him.

"Forget Luke." Sweeney said, his voice rather emotionless again. "If I'm eating before you, there's clearly a problem with you that not even a doctor can take care of." He waved Toby off dismissively, then added in with a hint of humor to his voice, "And yes, I'm okay, aren't I?"

Once Toby got his breath back, he gave a weak, yet daring smile. "I don't know...I'm startin' on a debate again." He picked up the pear from his lap and took a bite out of it.

Sweeney smirked, unable to restrain it any longer. He didn't reply though. Even as he came back over to sit across from Toby again, he remained silent. Toby didn't need for him to talk though. Mr. Todd had a way of putting a certain affect of his choice on others, whether he was talking or not.

"...Ow." Toby blinked, placing a hand on his chest.

Oh yeah. There was a bruise.

Sweeney rolled his eyes and got up yet again, leaving Toby to sit there, staring up at him in confusion. The barber came to lean against the counter and stare over at the side door with a solemn look on his face.

Toby glared at his back, letting out a pointed sigh. Just as he leaned against the booth side and closed his eyes, he faintly caught it: "...Sorry." It was so quiet, he was getting ready to ask Mr. Todd himself if _he_ had heard it.

He didn't speak though. He knew Sweeney'd appreciate it.

Instead, he merely smiled and got to his feet to walk back into the dark parlor. As he did so, however, he saw out of the corner of his eye Mr. Todd grabbing a few more pieces of fruit off the counter before retreating back out the side door.

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, I suppose this is a rather peaceful chapter. I've already written the next one out, and...it isn't quite as peaceful or happy, I'm sad to say. Quite the opposite, in fact. So...if you would like to see it, review! ...Please?<strong>

**By the way, I just LOVE using words on Sweeney like "homicidal maniac" or "serial killer". The whole atmosphere of Sweeney Todd is sorta like saying, "Serial killers have social lives too." It's rather amusing, isn't it?**

**Anyway..ahem..yes, as I said before, review if you get the chance. I will be getting back to this soon...**


	9. How Can You Be So Heartless?

**Goody, another update. :D**

**Enjoy, my friends. We're nearly to the 10th chapter, and the story has barely even started yet! **

***Ignores howls of agonizing pain and suffer and continues smiling like an idiot***

* * *

><p>"Who are <em>they<em>?"  
>Anthony flinched, gently pulling Johanna close to his side as they stood to the entrance of a gloomy alleyway. They were peering in with round eyes at a group of four late teenagers who were lounging inside, though they didn't seem to notice the young couple. One of them was flicking a pocket knife with a wooden handle in and out, examining the blade with obvious high interest.<p>

"Come, love. They haven't noticed us yet." Anthony whispered.

"They look dangerous." Johanna threw in quickly, tilting her head to one side.

"Yes, yes, I know." Anthony breathed, continuing to pull her away. He knew the lovely girl could get too distracted at some points. He really didn't want her to get hurt because of her own curiosity though.

"Oh, fine." Johanna sighed, finally giving in and trudging along after him.

They made their way back home.

From behind, however, the teenagers were still hanging out in the alleyway.

"Hmph, didn' think we could 'ear 'em." The second oldest of the four, a dirty blonde-haired boy, snorted. "They thought tha', they did."  
>"Give 'em credit, Cory," The oldest, a bright blonde-haired, said softly. "the girl was pretty easy on me eyes." He smirked. "I don' think she liked us though."<p>

"You kiddin', aren't yeh?"

"Nope."

"...What abou' the kid next to 'er?" The youngest boy with dusty brownish hair asked. He was sitting up against the brick wall, and his honey-brown colored eyes gleamed in the shadows when he raised his head to ask the question. He looked around the age of twelve.

"They're probably together," The oldest replied, clenching his fists. "no matter 'ow feminine 'e looks." He smirked. "Nothin' we can't fix..eh, boys?"  
>Cory perked up, his dark eyes seeming to brighten at the new idea. The youngest managed a faint smile, though he didn't look all that convinced. The only one who hadn't spoken at all, a medium sized boy who looked to be around the age of fourteen, rolled his greenish-blue eyes and glared out onto the street. The color of his hair was hidden within the darkness, and he still remained silent.<p>

The oldest rolled his eyes in turn. "Hm..._right_."

* * *

><p>Toby blinked open his eyes. The first thing he realized was that he was lying on the floor of his room. Had he fallen out of bed? He lifted his head to blink sleep out of his eyes further, only to jerk it downward at the sound of Mr. Todd shouting from inside the pie shop.<p>

_What?_

Toby scrambled to his feet and drowsily staggered to the door, opening it up to a crack just to listen in on what was going on.

"OUT!" Mr. Todd snarled. "She doesn't _want _to see anyone!"  
>"You've got a 'ell of a lot of nerve!" An unfamiliar man's voice snapped back.<p>

"Get _out_." Sweeney's voice grew dangerously low. So low and dark, in fact, that Toby found himself recoiling from the door. "..._now_."  
>A shuffling noise was to be heard, and Toby could just picture the man heading for the door...and then turning back around again to growl, "We don' know what you an' that nuisance <em>thief<em> of a child are up to, but we'll find out sooner or later."

"I'm _not _saying it again." Sweeney hissed through gritted teeth.

Without another word spoken, the door opened and then closed again.

Toby hesitantly opened his own bedroom door and headed out. He made his way into the shop, where he saw Sweeney standing behind the counter. The demon barber was still seething.

"You..." He began quietly, though his voice rose in anger as he went on. "...you couldn't have just told them she was dead?"

"...They all loved Mum. Perhaps not as much as I did, or you..." Toby cut himself off, casting Sweeney an anxious look. The barber's glare only intensified. "...though-though they didn't show it much. I thought it'd be better if we just let 'em go on believin' she was alive, but not well..so when they finally found out, we'd be long gone."

"Gone?" Sweeney glared at him suspiciously.

"..Y-yes."

"You actually think I'd travel with _you_?"

Toby's heart began to pound hard. "I.." He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "..well, no..but-"

"I don't need you pitying me." Sweeney growled.

"It's not like that at all." Toby lifted his head high to return the glare, suddenly feeling defensive of himself. "Why would I ever pity you? Especially when you don't want me to."  
>Sweeney froze, taken aback. He blinked at Toby a few times before reluctantly shaking his head and turning away. "Never you mind..." He muttered, lifting a hand to rub his forehead stressfully.<p>

"I just thought that...if we left before we were found out about," Toby began carefully. "we...I mean, _I_, wouldn't have to see their disappointed faces."

_Can he get any more bloody pathetic? _Sweeney wondered irritably.

"Don't you mean..._horrified _faces?" He sneered in a voice that sounded, if possible, more harsh than usual. "That is...if we get the bloodstains off in time."

Toby stared at him, glaring all the while and slowly shaking his head in disbelief. "...How can you be so heartless?"

"Heartless?" Sweeney echoed, still sneering.

"See?" Toby whispered. "You're so heartless, you haven't a clue what I'm talking about."

"That's nonsense." Sweeney growled, settling down in the booth. He was growing weary of this conversation.

"Sir?" Toby seemed to have calmed down a little...strangely.

"_What _now?" Came the growly reply.

"What happened to you?"  
>"What do you mean?"<br>"What happened to you, as in, in the past. Why're you like this?"

Sweeney stiffened. "...That's none of your business, lad."  
>"It isn't?" Toby clenched his fists. "Why do you treat me like this then?"<br>"It's so hard not to." Sweeney shot back, immediately knowing what he was talking about this time.

"No," Toby began pacing. "no, no, no..." He stopped and turned to look back at Sweeney crossly. "It's like you're reaching out for attention."

"Quit while you're ahead, boy. I advise you-"

"No!" Toby interrupted him fiercely. "You're treating me like _shit_!" He spat the last word. "Absolute _shit_. And you're not even telling me _why_!" He stiffened only slightly after saying this. He'd normally get punished so badly for swearing...

"That's quite enough!" Mr. Todd snapped, bolting upright from where he sat.

"I don't think it is!" Toby hissed. "Because for whatever reason, you're taking out all your anger on me! Just because you can't take it out on Mum any more!"

"I did _not _then, and I do _not _now." Sweeney said stubbornly. "It doesn't matter whether or not you understand though. You never will."

There was a pause. A dead silence to follow this.

They stood across the room from each other, their hackles raised.

Toby let his hard expression soften only slightly, and he murmured after a moment, "Help me understand then."

"No." Sweeney said simply. He turned his back on Toby to hide the pained expression he now wore, and he leaned down to press his weight into his hands that now rested against the edge of the table. He grimaced, sensing Toby taking a hesitant step closer to him.

"Why not? Does it hurt too much?"

Sweeney felt searing anger tearing through his chest, and he tried at his hardest to keep it down. To keep it from erupting. He was too busy focusing on this, he didn't even realize that his breath was now coming in audible gasps.

"Sir, please." Toby insisted. He took another step closer.

"...Get away from me." Sweeney whispered shakily. Simply choking those four words out took a great effort.

"What was it?" Toby pressed. Another step.

Sweeney tensed.

"Some sort of...bad experience?"

Toby was directly behind Mr. Todd now, and he reached up with a trembling hand to place it on the barber's shoulder.

"Did it have to do with someone you..maybe..loved?"

_That_ did it.

Sweeney flipped around and slapped Toby away with a force that could quite easily knock a horse off balance. Toby stumbled backwards and soon fell to the floor, cringing against the stinging pain on his cheek. Mr. Todd had also slapped his hand away, and Toby now felt as though it was getting ready to fall off.

"Get _away_ from me, I said." The demon barber hissed, venom dripping off his words.

Toby gaped up at him, tears stinging his eyes. He blinked them away, a glare replacing his shocked expression. "And..." He said shakily. "...and I bet you wanted to do that this whole time, too." He staggered to his feet and backed up into the door, still casting Mr. Todd a hurt glare.

Sweeney returned it, though his eyes gleamed with more hatred than hurt.

Toby shook his head again and quickly turned around, opened the door, and ran out onto the gloomy, cobblestone street. He let just one tear slide down his cheek, but succeeded in holding back the others.

What was he thinking?

He vowed that nothing would ever harm Mum, and yet Mr. Todd ruined it. Now, he couldn't even stand up to the barber without running away in tears in the end.

Now...he just wasn't sure whether or not he'd come back.

* * *

><p>"What have you got there, Antony?"<br>"I think it's from Mr. Todd."  
>Johanna gave a breathy sigh and sat down on the couch, shaking her head.<p>

"It's all right." Anthony gently placed his hand on her's before sitting down next to her and opening the envelope. "Want me to read it aloud?"  
>"No..that-that's okay." Johanna mumbled.<p>

"All right." Anthony sighed.

He looked the parchment over, and began mentally reading,

_Dear Antony,_

_I do apologize, but this was no misunderstanding. Perhaps only partly; I didn't recognize her. _

Even if the words sounded smooth, Anthony could just tell that they were written with hesitation. He just didn't know why...

With a shrug, he continued reading silently,

_I threatened her. Please tell her I'm sorry. She didn't get caught up in the 'suspenseful moment', and when she tells you something, believe it. Don't you dare pass it off as nothing. She sounds like a very intelligent young lady, and you're lucky to have her._

_I'm happy for you two, nonetheless. My highest hope is to come and visit one day, if you'll have me. I want nothing more than to make things right with Johanna. She doesn't need to feel intimidated by me. Never._

_Sincerely, Mr. Sweeney Todd_

Anthony blinked a few times, shock pulsing from him. It was so brief...yet so firm. He always knew Mr. Todd as a firm person...perhaps a tad intimidating...never really smiled...

But he _never _thought he'd threaten someone with a straight razor. Maybe he was just in a real foul mood...but then why was he covered in blood? Was it the blood of another man's...?

This just wasn't making any sense.

"...So?"  
>He jumped, completely forgetting that Johanna was right beside him.<p>

"What does it say?" She asked anxiously.

"Read it for yourself." Anthony offered it over, but she gently pushed it down.

"Just...give me the highlights."  
>Anthony sighed. "It-it wasn't a misunderstanding-"<br>"I knew it!" Johanna exclaimed.

"No, please, listen." Anthony murmured. "He says he's sorry."  
>"<em>Sorry<em>?" Johanna's voice went to a higher pitch that he'd never heard before. "He was getting ready to _kill_ me, and he's just..._sorry _now?"

"He didn't recognize you." Anthony supplied.

"That makes things better, doesn't it?" Johanna hissed. Her voice lowered slightly as she went on, "Listen...I..I think I heard him murdering someone when I was hiding in that chest. I..heard Judge Turpin's voice. I think Mr. Todd killed him."  
>"I thought you didn't like him."<br>"I don't. Not any more." Johanna sighed. "That's probably the only good thing about this."  
>"He's <em>not <em>a killer. I know it." Anthony insisted, rapping his arm around her shoulders. "He said he'd like to visit. And when he does, I'm opening the door and letting him in."

* * *

><p><strong>I know things may seem pretty sudden with that outbursting argument between Sweeney and Toby, but that's just what you'd expect from them, eh? *Rolls eyes*<strong>

**Anyway, do review! **


	10. A Little Support

**Sorry it took so long. I've been having some...complications.**

**^^ But all's okay now, for the most part.**

**Now...just as a warning: there **_**is **_**a semi-sentimental scene in here. I figured it was only a matter of time though. ;D**

**Not anything too bad. Don't worry. xD For all those...anti-soppy folk.**

**Enjoy, anyway!**

* * *

><p>Toby trudged down the street, still blinking tears out of his eyes, as well as raindrops. There was a light drizzle that seemed to start as soon as he got outside.<p>

Just his luck...

He wasn't exactly sure how far from the shop he was, but Mr. Todd obviously hadn't followed him. It wasn't like that was a surprise, really.

With a sigh, he turned another corner into a alley and sat against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest. He would've been rocking back and forth, but he didn't think it'd be that nice of a sight for those passing. But really, if anyone found out about his problem, they'd sympathize and understand, wouldn't they? He lived with a mad man! A..very annoying, homicidal, depressed mad man with major anger issues and constant mood swings.

Ugh!

Toby groaned and rested his head against the wall to close his eyes. It wasn't very comfy there, but he ended up falling asleep anyway. He _was _pretty weary after that long argument with Mr. T.

* * *

><p>Sweeney was pacing.<p>

_Again? _

Yeah.

It wasn't a crime.

It wasn't like the dreadful things he used to do (which also happened to be something he really wanted to do now).

The _nerve _of that child!

Mr. Todd grabbed another bottle of gin and sat down at the booth. He could easily drink out his problems. It was better than the _other _option...

At least Mrs. Lovett would say so. And now, dare he say it, her wisdom was exactly what he needed.

He sat there in silence, drinking. He didn't pay much attention when the sound of a few men walking down the street outside came to his ears. But when angry shouts and yells were to be heard following, he lifted his head in confusion. Sweeney twisted around to look out the window and saw a group of men walking together. A few of them looked quite angry; Sweeney could tell a great amount of them were drunk. It wasn't getting _terribly _late, but he still couldn't say he wasn't surprised. Time seemed to fly lately. It'd be morning one minute, and evening the very next.

Mr. Todd watched as they walked on, not even noticing him staring through the window. He couldn't help but notice that they were heading in the same direction that Toby had headed in. Not that he cared, really.

But...could the boy possibly be in danger?

_What if I just...followed?  
><em>Sweeney got up and opened the door to stick his head out. The damp air met him, and a few small drops of rain from the drizzle landed into his thick black hair and pale face.

"Ugh...damn that boy."

"'Ey, Toby...wake up, I-"

"Huh? What? Put the razors down, you crazed lunatic!"

"It's jus' me, kid."

Toby blinked up into those familiar greenish-blue eyes, and glared hard at the face. "What do _you _want?" He found he was still lying in the alley. The rain was still lightly falling onto his face. As he stared at Luke, he noticed the teenager was absolutely drenched. That reminded him of how cold he suddenly was from laying out in the dead air and wetness.

"Pfft, I'm not telling ya with _that _attitude."

"Just break it to me, Luke." Toby wearily lifted a hand to massage his temple.

"I just came to warn you." The teenager said briskly. "There's an angry, drunken mob 'eadin' this way. Stay out 'o sight, eh?"

Toby blinked at him a few times, unsure on whether or not he heard him right. "...What?"

"They'll be getting to anyone they 'ave a bone to pick with, you included." Luke explained. "Get down an' follow my lead. I'll keep you safe."

"Why should I trust you?" Toby asked suspiciously. "You're the same kid who made off with my bread."

"And quite grand bread it was." Luke smirked, causing Toby's glare to harden. "...All right, all right! Why would I tell you if I _wanted _you to get caught and beaten to a bloody pulp?"

Toby shrugged. "I really don't see why we can't just stay in here. We seem safe."

"They're checking the alleys." Luke told him. "And they're getting close. We need to 'urry."

"...Oh, fine." Toby grumbled, staggering to his feet. He nodded to the blonde teenager, waiting for his instructions.

"Jus' follow me and stick close." Luke said quickly. He then sped off at an unexpected speed, and Toby bolted after him, fighting to keep up.

* * *

><p>Sweeney was still closely following through the alleys. He kept the mob in his sight, his dark eyes narrowed; What a bunch of <em>swines<em>.

He soon found himself within a long maze of alleys, something quite similar to the alleyways he and Toby had been in with Luke and the others only a few days ago.

Was this going to be another rescue mission...?

Mr. Todd settled down near the edge of one of the gloomy, narrow pathways to glare down at two figures who were running at top speed towards him. They didn't realize his presence, of course. He was far too in the shadows to be seen from faraway.

Wait!

Was that...?

"Toby?" He murmured under his breath.

Who was that in front of him?

_Luke? _Sweeney growled at the sight of him, but still remained quiet.

The two boys turned abruptly and headed out of sight, into another alley.

Why were they running together?

Mr. Todd, with all his stealth, crept along the darkness. His pale skin could easily give him away, sure. But no one was there now to see -

He gasped.

The angry group of men, which turned out to be a bit smaller than Luke had described, were making their way down the alley.

Sweeney ducked down behind a dumpster, scowling. He peeked out from behind it and immediately recognized a few of them as residents of Fleet Street, old customers. Some who had narrowly escaped his clutches, in fact. They were trashing their way down the alley, shouting threats to invisible people. Sweeney wondered if they knew that Toby and Luke were there in the alley. Were they giving chase? They _did _turn the same corner as the two boys. After they were all out of sight, Sweeney began following again.

* * *

><p>Toby was still running, his heart skipping a beat at the sound of the mob gaining on them.<p>

"Why're they coming after _us_?" He demanded breathlessly.

"Probably for you. What with all your lies an' thieving."

"L-lies?"

Luke glanced back at him, blinking, and roughly shook his head. "Never mind." He continued onward until they found a space in between two garages, and he quickly jumped into it. Toby was getting ready to follow, but found himself being pushed out again.

"W-wait, what're you doing?"

"Think I'll go get some bread." Luke smirked. "Good luck."

"_What? _Wait! Come ba-"

Toby was hit over the back of the head, and he fell face down onto the pavement. He felt a pair of hands grab hold of his shoulders and flip him over, only to see a knife gleaming in the little light that the London sky provided, pointing right at him.

* * *

><p>Sweeney peered around the corner. He saw the angry residents of Fleet Street crowding around something that was lying on the ground, kicking it, stabbing it. Then his blood ran cold at the sound of a familiar voice howling in agonizing pain.<p>

"Toby.." He bared his teeth and sprinted forward, bringing both his razors out. He didn't even say anything as he charged into the crowd and punched the one in the middle, anger blinding him from anything else rather than causing the same kind of agony to these men.

"Who are-" The man he had punched was cut off, and Sweeney grabbed hold of him and swung him around to slam him against the brick wall to the left side of the alley. He pinned him there and brought his razor up. Before he could stop himself, a splash of crimson slapped him in the face. The man in front of him fell down, dead.

Toby gaped up at Mr. Todd, not sure whether to be pleased or disturbed when he saw the blood splattering against the wall, pavement, and Sweeney. He was still pretty helpless as he was forcefully pulled to his feet to be slapped against the garage door to the opposite side of the alley and punched several painful times in the face and stomach. His arm was throbbing, blood still pulsing from the wound that the knife had made. He managed to count four men beating up on him. Sweeney had just slaughtered the fifth, and now the demon barber was coming back to take care of the others. Toby felt even more weight being taken off him. Sweeney had grabbed the man in the very middle and was getting ready to slit his throat as well, but the brute had struggled out of the barber's grasp and was now running down the alleyway, screaming something about this whole thing being far from over. Mr. Todd grabbed a more lean, rather than muscular man, who was holding the knife, and raised an arm to slit his throat with the razor in his right hand. However, Toby's breath was caught in his throat when the skinny man had lifted his knife and slashed it across the demon's chest. It didn't go in deep enough to damage him severely though. Sweeney's eyes glazed over in anger and pain, but Toby couldn't keep track of what was going on with the two other men still punching him.

He tried at his hardest to fight back, but it was still too much. He ended up sinking to the ground in all his pain and weariness, coming dangerously close to falling unconscious.

It was all a blur, but Sweeney obviously soon finished with the man, because he went onto the other two. Toby's eyes were half closed, and he just couldn't focus anymore. He felt the slightest relief, however, when the two last men had retreated down the alley when Sweeney advanced on them. Toby was frozen, too shocked to cry. Sweeney turned around to glare down at him, and Toby could have sworn the barber's hard expression softened faintly.

Nothing too noticable.

"Come now," The barber muttered, struggling to keep his voice steady against his gasping breath. "nothing to be..." Another breath. "...scarred over."

Toby didn't reply. He just continued staring at nothing with a shocked expression plastered over his face. Sweeney sighed stressfully and slowly pulled the boy to his feet, steadying him. Toby did nothing to help with this though, and he was nothing more than dead weight that Mr. Todd soon found himself dragging.

"We've got to get back to Fleet Street before those bastards do." Sweeney growled, practically carrying Toby half way before the boy absently resumed walking with a blank expression on his face. Toby was shivering fiercely, against both the cold and the wound on his arm. He had a black eye, as well as several other bruises. Sweeney didn't look all too better, even if he had the upper hand in the fight using his razors. His razors that were going to get a thorough cleaning once the two got home.

And so, just like two nights before, Sweeney was walking home with Toby, covered with his victim's blood and Toby covered with bruises. They stayed out of sight within the alleys, and when they reached their street, they crossed speedily.

Toby walked through the door and sat down in the booth, still shaking. Sweeney closed the door behind them and tiredly leaned against it. They were both drenched, now closely resembling drowned rats.

They remained silent. It didn't grow awkward this time, however. It was...rather comforting.

The silence was broken after a while though; by Toby's shaky breath.

Sweeney gazed down at the boy who now seemed more conscious.

"...Are you all right?" He murmured.

Toby shivered. "Of-of..c-course."

Sweeney rolled his eyes. "Doesn't seem like it."

"Why-why w-w-would they...?"  
>"I don't know." Sweeney sighed, walking around the table to sit in the booth next to Toby. "I knew they did stupid things while drunk. I never thought they'd so something <em>that <em>stupid."

Toby dipped his head and closed his eyes tightly, and Mr. Todd spotted a tear falling. "W-what're we gonna do?" He whispered, rapping his arms around himself.

Sweeney honestly didn't know how to respond to that. Did they really have to leave Fleet Street? Even if he didn't act like he cared for it, it was still the only place that truly felt like home.

"I really have no idea..." He paused for a moment, then added in softly, "...Toby."

Toby blinked in surprise for a moment that the barber actually used his name this time, but it quickly went back to a gloomy action of tightly hugging himself and cringing against his injuries, trying to hold back his tears and failing miserably.

The people he once thought he knew, not as friends..but perhaps loyal customers at least, had been trying to quite possibly _kill_ him. He never knew things'd come to this in the end.

Sweeney stared down at him, suddenly noticing the wound on the boy's arm. He quickly took out his bloodstained razor and began cutting off a piece of cloth from his sleeve. When he got it big enough, he gently grabbed Toby's wounded arm (Toby flinching at this, of course) and rapped the white cloth around it. The boy let out a tiny hiss of pain from the gash being touched, but he relaxed after a moment. Sweeney absently let go of Toby's arm once he tied a knot on the dressing, it falling right back into its place of rapping around the boy's trembling body.

Toby seemed to be lost in his own haunted thoughts. His bottom lip would give an occasional twitch, as though he were getting ready to say something, but thought against it. He looked miserable and pathetic, but this time...Sweeney would murder anyone who said it to be priceless.

Letting out a small breath, Mr. Todd hesitantly raised his arm to rap it over Toby's shoulders. He carefully pulled the young boy closer to him, until their clothes were brushing. He knew he wouldn't have been able to provide much warmth, him naturally being as cold as death itself. However, Toby, in all his shock of this movement, seemed to like the support. He carefully leaned into Sweeney's chest, obviously cautious of making a wrong move and getting his throat slit. Sweeney cringed and stifled his own hiss of pain, the boy's head resting against the fresh, bloody slash on his chest that had ripped right through his clothing. He numbly went on ignoring the pain and eventually ended up rapping his other arm around the boy's small frame, hugging him close. Toby noticed immediately that it wasn't as warm and soft as a hug from Mrs. Lovett would have been, but he supposed that was also obvious. The way the demon barber felt at touch was awfully similar to his personality: cold and hard.

Toby breathed out heavily, letting a few more tears fall. He wiped them away furiously before rapping his arms around Sweeney in turn, to which he felt the barber stiffen. Mr. Todd had clearly not experienced such close human contact for years. Fifteen to be exact. He wasn't entirely sure of what to make of it.

Maybe he wasn't _that _heartless after all...

When Toby finally pulled away, he glanced down at his shirt and sleeves to see blood all over himself from pressing so close to Sweeney. As disgusted as he was by this, he had to admit: He felt...better.

Sweeney sighed and rested his arms across the table, staring at the bloodstained sleeves. "...So," He muttered after a moment. "no one is to know about this, ey?"  
>"Of course not." Toby agreed matter-of-factly, as if they had been practicing that question for years. He remained silent for a while afterwards until he took a side glance at Sweeney, only to gasp at the large slash that ripped through the barber's chest. How had he not noticed before? And how did he forget? The barber was...caring for Toby first, and not for himself.<p>

"Sir?" He stammered.

"What?"

"You, uh...you're gonna clean that up, right?"

"Clean up-" Sweeney cut himself off and lifted a hand to wipe through some of the blood that had seeped out onto his chest. "...oh." He breathed, trying his best to hide the horrified expression on his face. "It's nothing new." He shuddered. "It'll add on with the rest of the scars."

"You're in pain." Toby pointed out. "Treat it before it _becomes _a scar."  
>Sweeney sniffed with contempt. "Are you pitying me again?"<p>

"No! I just..." Toby paused. "...I'm just trying to care for you the way you just cared for me."

"I couldn't care less about you." Sweeney sneered.

Toby grumbled to himself. Why must an argument flare up every few minutes?

"What was that then?"  
>"What was what?"<br>"What you just did!" Toby exclaimed. "You just-"  
>"You were cold." Sweeney waved him off. "I'm not gonna let you freeze."<p>

"I think you just needed a hug.." Toby muttered, halfway smirking.

Sweeney scowled and sharply stood up to stalk away, heading for the side door, of course.

"Hey, w-wait." Toby called hesitantly, suddenly feeling faint guilt taking over him. "I'm sorry."

Sweeney stopped and glared over his shoulder.

"Thanks," Toby rested his hand over the dressing on his arm. "that'll heal up." He smiled, trying to keep things bright. "I did need a..a little...support, too."

"Too? Hm.." Sweeney eyed him thoughtfully, then once again failed at suppressing a smirk. "I'm glad, but don't always expect it. Ever heard of the "first and _last _time" for things? Selfish child..." He rolled his eyes and pushed the side door open, walking outside without another word.

Toby grinned after him. "Whatever you say, Mr. T."

* * *

><p><strong>:3<strong>

***Desperately feels like huggling Sweeney***

**Love him.**

**Anyway...I knew there'd be an affectionate scene sooner or later. I wanted it to be in a moment in which Toby would be traumitized, though (which I did pull off...kinda). **

**I really wanted to release this chapter, as many are fans of fluff. **

**The residents of Fleet Street obviously hate being left in the dark, and by people who are led by a man that looks as suspicious as Sweeney Todd does. And seriously...did it not occur to anyone that Sweeney sort of looks a bit...dangerous? Of course, that wouldn't stop me from giving him a fangirl hug, but you get my damn point. -_-**

**People must've been a tad more rash back then, as I can picture it.**

**Oh yeah, and that reminds me...**

**DAMN THAT LUKE.**

**He'll be getting **_**his **_**soon enough, don't you worry.**

**But in the meantime...**

**Me: *hugs Sweeney***

**Sweeney: *pushes Me off***

**Me: D:**


	11. Questionable Care

**Here's another update for you. I haven't really been posting many because I've been planning out many more stories that I'll show in the near future (hopefully). Of course, them all being based upon Sweeney Todd, because as soon as I started writing this story, I suddenly realized how much fun writing about him, and the whole concept, was. XD**

**So, look out for more Sweeney Todd stuff from me!**

* * *

><p>Sweeney dragged himself up the stairs to his tonsorial parlor, having tripped on his way up at least two times already. He was glad to get out of Toby's vision. He needed time alone to get rid of all of his...blood.<p>

No one could get it wrong: Sweeney Todd was _not_ a squeamish person in the least. How else was he able to slaughter all those men without even flinching?

It was just his...his _own _blood that unnerved him. He could deal with small cuts. But how could one expect him to remain calm with such a gash that ripped so dangerously close to that cold, mangled heart of his?

Benjamin Barker had never been good with blood of any sort. The smallest cut on either himself, or someone else, made him scare in the most audible of ways. When he was shipped off to Australia, he saw things happen to others...the most grisly, gory, horrible things. After a while of being forced to watch it, the sight soon grew stale. So stale, he wasn't afraid anymore.

However, fear of his own blood stuck with him, to his dismay.

Mr. Todd pulled the door to his shop open and staggered in, still shuddering. He tried his best to avoid looking directly down at his chest as he stiffly unbuttoned his waistcoat. Once he finally managed to get it off without looking, he slung it over his monster chair that was still stained with the Judge's blood. The sight of the stains caught his dark eyes for a moment, and he gazed down at the chair with an odd expression on his face.

He knew he needed to get rid of them before people _really _started to get suspicious. But...how could he bring himself to do that?

_Never. I'll never._

He shook his head, dismissing the idea. If he and Toby really left, it'd be before then. Judge Turpin's blood would always be there, unless someone _else _followed up on intentions to clean it.

The demon barber didn't want to see that.

Sweeney tried to push this topic to the back of his head though, as he began taking off his once-white pinstripe shirt that was now ripped and bloodied up from the alley brawl/massacre. He tried to keep it from brushing against the wound..but this wasn't easy, naturally enough. When he finally stole a glance down, he jerked his head away from the sight immediately and gave an intake of breath that stung his gritted teeth.

_This is 'ow a surviving customer of yours would've felt, Mr. T. _

Sweeney's hard glare returned at the sound of that dreaded..._voice _again.

"Oh," He muttered casually, throwing his shirt over the barber's chair, on top of the waistcoat. "and where've _you _been?"

Toby wasn't there. He could argue with his inner voices again.

_Don' get me wrong, love; I've been watchin'._

"Really?" Sweeney said matter-of-factly, uninterested. He reached down and grabbed the cloth that was hooked onto his belt.

_Oh, yes. I take it you an' Toby are startin' to get along well._

"I don't expect it to last long." Sweeney grumbled, moving the rag out of the way to view the wound again. What he saw made him feel faintly lightheaded again: more scars. He knew they were there...but it was never the biggest pleasure to see them. They were on his chest, some right on next to the new wound, and on his torso. He knew for a fact that there were some on his back as well. However, the nastiest looking one started on his stomach and somehow stretched to end on his back. Half the scars he didn't even remember getting. That one in particular, however...he remembered full well how he got it. He just didn't like to talk or think about it.

Sweeney soon found himself collapsing into his chair, breathing out heavily and pressing his hand against his forehead.

For once, he didn't know whether to feel angry or pleased when the voice rang out in a worried tone for the first time,

_M-Mr. T, you-you never told me you 'ad-_

"You know now." Sweeney snapped, finally lifting the cloth and placing it against the bloody wound, stifling a yelp of pain. He kept his glare pinned on the window though.

_I'm sorry, dear._

He flinched in startled surprise at the feel of an icy cold hand resting against his bare shoulder. "That's cold," He gasped, suppressing a shiver. "g-get off, Mrs..." He paused.

_Wha' 'tis it, love?_

"...Mrs. Lovett!" He jumped up swiftly and, still pressing the cloth close to his chest, he grabbed the waistcoat and pressed it over that, ignoring the sting.

She could see him.

He knew that...sort of.

It just didn't occur to him that he was...

_Hehe..no need to get worked up, Mr. T. I don' bite._

He growled lowly, already feeling heat rising into his face. "Just leave me." He muttered.

_Oh, very well. Be good to Toby, or I'll be forced to return. Savvy?_

Sweeney grunted in response.

There was silence.

He gloomily went back to sitting in the chair and wiping away at the wound, trying to get it clean. It was awful. Why had he thought of Toby before himself? He could have prevented all this blood from pulsing out if he treated it before he took care of the wound on Toby's arm...let alone _hug _him.

...Why did he do _that_?

At the sight of the boy crying, Sweeney felt...helpless, and awful. Something just clicked in him. Something that obviously caused him to give in to the urge to think that Toby would be safe in his arms for a few moments. It wouldn't only be good for Toby, but it'd reassure the barber as well. When he left the shop, Toby was smiling.

Strangely enough, that was all Sweeney Todd wanted to see.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Mr. Todd,<em>

Anthony wrote, curiosity still eating him alive. He was finally going to ask Mr. Todd just exactly what was going on. Johanna sat on the couch, watching him write.

_Johanna still doesn't want to read anything you say. Perhaps a visit would be necessary. I'd enjoy your company, and I'm sure she'd learn to as well. But, if I _

He stopped writing abruptly, and Johanna stiffened; a loud bang from outside the door of their house sounded off.

"What was that?"

Johanna was getting ready to rise from where she sat, but Anthony got up before her and quickly pushed her back down.

"I'll take care of it." He told her gently. "Stay here."  
>Johanna was getting ready to protest, but reluctantly gave up and nodded.<p>

Anthony smiled down at her and slowly lowered his head to kiss her. She let him, and all her remaining protests immediately died on her tongue at the feel of his lips against hers. When he pulled away, Anthony turned and walked into the other room. The sound of the door opening and closing properly reassured Johanna enough, and she waited for his return.

And waited.

And waited.

What was taking so long?

Johanna was a pretty impatient girl. But...this was really beginning to feel like forever.

She got up from where she sat and walked over to the door herself. She pulled it open and gazed out into the night with her bright blue orbs, a puzzled look on her face.

Then she gasped.

"Antony!"

She ran over to his limp figure that was sprawled across the grass.

"Antony?" She whispered shakily, kneeling down beside him to cradle his head in one hand. "Antony, can you hear me?"

There was no reply.

She frantically checked his breathing.

He was still alive, but his breathing was growing fainter by the minute.

What happened to him?

Johanna lifted her own head to look around, but saw no one in sight. She needed to get help; she knew nothing medical of any sort.

So, her being the clueless young teenager that she was, she began aimlessly walking down the street, looking for a passing resident (or really a person of any kind).

As she walked down the sidewalk, she _did _see someone. Someone who was walking ahead of her. It was a man who was wearing a dark brown trench coat and a hat that looked as though it'd belong to a detective.

"Excuse me, sir!" Johanna called.

The man stopped.

Johanna neared him at a cautious pace, as he hadn't turned around yet.

"Excuse me," She repeated breathlessly. "but I-"  
>"What're you doin' out 'ere, girl, at this hour?" The man demanded, flipping around to look at her with an irritable look on his face. He looked to be around his early 70's, with his faintly wrinkled skin and graying hair that stuck out from under his hat. He wore a pair of glasses over his grayish-blue eyes as well.<p>

"I-I need your help, sir. If you'd be so kind." Johanna replied quickly.

"What's the matter?" He muttered, the sour look on his face still remaining.

"My..my.." Johanna wasn't exactly sure what to call Anthony to herself, so she just said hastily, "my..my friend...he's been seriously injured. I need-"  
>"I don' know anything about dealing with injuries, girl."<p>

Johanna breathed out heavily. "Can you at least help me bring him back to our house?"  
>The man glared at her for a few more heartbeats before letting out a sigh. "Fine then. Don' expect much else from me than that."<br>"Of course not, sir." Johanna let out a sigh of relief. "Follow me." She led him back the way she had come.

* * *

><p>"Are you stupid?"<p>

Toby grimaced. The question seemed so simple, yet it took so much out of him. Though, he made an exception for not spewing a snappy reply: Mr. Todd's words were faintly...humorous. He decided to savor these moments, because the demon barber could snap right back into a murderous, homicidal state at any time.

They were scrubbing the walls again. The blood was...almost gone.

"You tell me," Toby replied with a half smile. "I never went to an actual school."

"Oh," Sweeney shook his head ruefully, placing a hand on his forehead again. "is that why?"

Toby held back a laugh, pretending to be offended. He reached out with both hands and shoved the barber forward, already bracing himself for much shouting and razor-slashing. He was careful, however, to keep the wound on the demon's chest away from the wall, which was now patched up from under Mr. Todd's shirt. Sweeney stumbled forward with a startled yelp and pushed off from the wall only seconds later, flipping around to fix Toby with a daring grin (much to Toby's shock). The demon barber stepped right up to the boy in only one stride and shoved him back with a rough jab to the shoulder. This took Toby by surprise, but a smile came over his lips before he could prevent it. He jumped forward and rammed into Sweeney's mid-section, looking to knock him off balance. Sweeney was too strong though, and he let out a mere grunt against the surprisingly powerful in-pact before shaking Toby off him without much effort.

"You're getting stronger, boy. I'll admit." He gave a quiet chuckle.

"Really?" Toby perked up a bit.

"Yes," Sweeney blinked down at him with faint surprise in his eyes before adding in with a smirk. "I suppose you may leave it to a life of crime to shape a boy into a _real _man." He emphasized the second from the last word on the complete purpose to humiliate Toby (why else?).

Toby straightened indignantly. "Tha' ain't funny!"  
>"No?" Sweeney reached down to playfully ruffle the boy's hair. "So I suppose this ain't either?"<p>

"No! Stop! Don't-" Toby cut himself off and sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and giving a childish huff.

When Sweeney finally took his hand away, Toby's hair was pretty messed up. "I'll be honest," He murmured. "it looks presentable, at least."

"Unlike yours?" Toby sassed.

"'Ey, watch it." Sweeney chided. "That's enough cheek for one day, don't you think?"

"I don't know," Toby tipped his head thoughtfully. "you seemed to have fit far more in than I."

"Well, there's a good reason for you to listen, then."

"And why is that?"

Sweeney rose an eye brow at him. "Maybe because I can kill you...?"

"Oh," Toby frowned. "right." He looked away, the frown remaining, until he lifted his head suddenly to gaze back up at Sweeney with hopeful eyes, "But..but you haven't killed me _yet_."  
>Sweeney stiffened. "...Right." He turned away to continue scrubbing the wall, now avoiding eye contact with Toby completely. "..uh..get back to work, lad."<p>

Toby sighed. "Yes, sir." He reluctantly did as Mr. Todd said, and this boringly went on for a while.

They _did_ make progress for once, however. The job was almost done.

Sweeney didn't seem to want to talk any more though, let alone fool around much more than they already had. He worked tirelessly. Toby was growing weary, and watching Mr. Todd's strong efforts made him feel even more so.

As if he just noticed this, Sweeney stopped and turned to look down at him. "We're almost done." His voice had that usual dark tone about it, and Toby wasn't sure what had come over him since the last time he spoke. "We'll continue tomorrow, an' hopefully finish as well."  
>"All-all right, Mr. T." Toby tilted his head to one side, confused.<p>

Sweeney let out a breathy sigh and ran a gloved hand through his hair. He _did _look a bit tired, actually. Toby knew the barber would try his best not to show it though.

"You know," Sweeney began nonchalantly. "for a nuisance thief of a child, you follow orders well." He turned away from Toby and headed for the bakehouse door.  
>"Hey!" Toby sprung after him, slowing his pace soon after to bump against Sweeney's side. "How many times do I have to make clear that I ain't no thief?"<p>

"As many times as it'll take to convince people like me." Sweeney replied calmly.

"Oh?" Toby blinked up at him. "And how many times is that?"  
>Sweeney was grateful for the shadows to cover the small grin that was growing across his face as they began walking up the stairs. "Why are you asking me?" He demanded, poking Toby in the shoulder as he added, "Ask yourself."<p>

Toby tilted his head. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Sweeney shook his head, still hiding his smug expression. "Well, only you can beat the truth into someone. Whatever that truth may be," He waited for them to reach the very top of the stairs, then turned back to look down at Toby. "You decide that though."

Toby shrugged. "I..I still don't understand."  
>"Oh, well," Sweeney breathed out. "I can't say I'm quite ready to demonstrate." He stalked back into the shop, and Toby hesitantly followed after him in silence.<p>

"When will you be-"  
>"I'll know when." Sweeney glanced back at him, a crafty glint in his dark eyes. "You wont."<p>

Toby still looked confused, and mildly nervous. What did the barber intend on doing that he wouldn't be prepared for? He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Well," Sweeney walked over to the side door and pulled it open, the candlelight from outside leaking its way into the room. "if you'll excuse me, I've got-"

"Er..hold on a moment." Toby muttered.

"What?" Sweeney only took a mere side glance over his shoulder, the expression on his face proving that he was a tad irritated at being interrupted.

"I..uh..I-I haven't had fun like that in a..a while." The boy mumbled with obvious difficulty. "Th-thanks for that."

Sweeney stared at him, frozen and taken aback. He cleared his throat and awkwardly turned his attention to the door frame to run his hand along it, mostly so he didn't have to look at Toby while he desperately scraped his brain for a suitable answer. He caused someone..._fun? _

Of all things!

Toby sighed, already having expected for the barber to be speechless. He gave a small smile. "S'okay, Mr. T. You don't have to say anything."

Sweeney turned his head to look back at Toby for a moment longer, still without speaking, and then retreated outside to rush up the stairs to his shop.

Mr. Todd pulled the door open and walked over to the giant window within his tonsorial parlor, staring down at the eerily lit street below. After a while, he began pacing. He was too lost in thought to do anything else.

When this long session finally came to an end, he sat down in the barber's chair and took out his razor to flick it in and out a couple times. His movements were sharp and jerky.

What was wrong with him?

When he broke from Australia, he wasn't the same person that he had been fifteen years before. He was aware that, sooner or later, he'd hurt someone. Merely to take out his anger and hurt on someone. He now knew for a fact that he'd never be Benjamin Barker again. He was fully content with not trying to be him again, too. Sweeney Todd was a different person entirely. He and Benjamin could not be alike.

But...then again...

...could they?

Sweeney Todd had _not _been born to have fun. He'd been born to take his revenge.

_But revenge has been taken. Toby didn't kill you, and you could have quite easily killed yourself by now to reunite with your Lucy...so why haven't you done that yet?_

Sweeney blinked in surprise at the new, unfamiliar voice that rung out. It was dead silent, but not...

It definitely wasn't Mrs. Lovett.

Then the question caught his attention...

Why didn't he kill himself yet? It was such a simple solution to his problem. All along, it had been. What kept him from moving forth in self-harm?

There was no one he cared about around here, surely?

No one around here cared about _him_, obviously.

...Right?

* * *

><p><strong>Yep, that's where I'm leaving things again. If you think Sweeney is acting a tad out of character, I already know.<strong>

**Don't worry. That murderous guy that everyone loves will be back very soon. **

***Evil laugh***


	12. Bewilderment

**No. **

**You are not hallucinating.**

**But I'd suggest you re-read the crappy work of chapter 11, just to refresh your memory.**

**I suck. x.x**

* * *

><p>"Put him over there." Johanna instructed, finally stepping foot through the threshold.<p>

"The wounds look bad," The older man said in a steady voice. "shouldn't we just take him to a hospital?"

"Let me see how bad."

He set Anthony down in the recliner, the young man's body falling limply.

"Oh," Johanna knelt down next to the chair to gaze at him intently, worry in her eyes. "dear."

Anthony had many bruises all over his body, and a cut on his head. Blood made hair stick to his forehead.

The older man lowered himself down beside her. "It's no trouble," He murmured. "I can take him."

"No, no," Johanna shook her head sadly. "that's quite alright." She rose back to her full height and let out a sigh as she casted her gaze over Anthony again. "Just... lead me to the nearest hospital, if you please..."

The man had an annoyed look on his face, but Johanna could tell he didn't really mean it.

"Very well," He muttered gruffly. "...contemptible girl..."

"I heard that." Johanna stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Did you, now?"

"Yes, and please, we don't have much time." She motioned to Anthony and the faint rise and fall of his chest.

"Come with me, then." The elder turned. "Pick him up."

Johanna blinked back at him irritably. "Right behind you."

* * *

><p>"Alright," Sweeney leaned back, resting his arms against the back of the couch within the dark parlor. "I've got to hand it to you, boy..." he smirked. "...no one'd believe anything ever happened here."<p>

Toby hesitantly sat a few feet away from him, though on the same couch. He was surprised to see the barber in such an opened state of relaxation. "...Yeah, I know." he mumbled.

"I'd say we'd be able to..." Sweeney paused, a slightly uncomfortable look in his eyes. "...erm...leave, soon."

"Really?" Toby tried not to show a look of excitement.

"Yes." the barber said simply.

Thinking he'd hear more, Toby sat there and waited, only to realize that Sweeney was finished with his small speech. He didn't expect the demon barber to speak much anyway.

He swallowed, then spoke his turn. "Where would we... go, sir?"

"Plymouth." Sweeney confirmed, stating the name quicker than even he had intended.

Toby, though unable to read much, was told and read to about such places out of London. It'd certainly be interesting to leave.

"I think I'll miss this place." The boy murmured, his eyes moving along every corner of the gloomy room.

"Why?" Sweeney snorted, a familiar look of dislike making its way across his face.

"Don't you remember all the trouble we 'ad 'ere?" Toby looked directly at Mr. Todd now.

Sensing the lad's eyes on him, Sweeney moved his head a little to let his eyes turn in Toby's direction. "Like what?"

"Well, er... remember when that one pie exploded?" Toby held in a sudden shudder.

Sweeney rolled his eyes, as if that memory was considered completely normal pie shop activity.

Well... it _was_, when in Mrs. Lovett's pie shop, anyway.

"Yes. Your mum sent you to bed with a shot glass of gin. _I _was the one who had to stay up with her half the night and help clean up the mess."

Toby grinned a little; It seemed to only occur to him recently that Mr. Todd _was_ pretty funny at times. Sometimes when he wasn't even trying to be.

And usually, he wasn't.

"I remember that time... almost as well as I remember the day you and Mrs. Lovett stole my razors and hid them." Mr. Todd's small glare had returned. He looked a little more serious now, but Toby still couldn't help but smirk.

"'Ey, it was the first of April." He pointed out with an innocent shrug.

Sweeney shook his head. "How would you like it if I hid all your gin bottles?"

"W-what?" Toby looked up at him, alarm flashing in his eyes.

"Ugh," The barber let out a tiny groan. "An eleven-year-old child shouldn't be disgusting me with his alcoholic ways."

Toby's mouth was now agape, offended. "Pardon me, sir?"

Sweeney sighed. "Nothing."

A silence fell over the room. A comfortable one, for the most part.

To Toby, the idea of sitting in a room alone with the demon barber seemed downright mad just a few weeks ago. Now it didn't seem quite as impossible... but even still, Mr. Todd's actions still seemed to remain unpredictable. Even scary.

If he planned on changing his attitude anytime soon, Toby knew it wouldn't be easy for him.

"Sir...?" While lost in his thoughts, Toby ended up speaking aloud.

Sweeney responded surprisngly fast. "What?"

It took Toby a moment to fully acknowledge this; Mr. Todd would have normally stayed silent, rather than reply. The only logical reason for this was simply that he had learned to speak up a bit faster since spending more time with him. But... when Toby thought about it, that didn't seem simple nor logical in the least.

"Speak, before I do." Sweeney's tone was snappy with impatience.

Irritable once more, Toby decided to ask another question as an oppose to the one he was just about to. "What can you possibly say to 'urt me with words?" He knew he was digging a deep hole for himself here, but he just had to know.

The Demon Barber thought he _knew _him by now?

"D'you really want to know?" Sweeney questioned, raising his eyebrows.

Toby paused, but shook out of it just moments later to press on hesitantly. "You... you talk like you're invincible."

"Oh," Sweeney had to suppress a chuckle at these words. "Trust me, lad. I'm far from it."

"Why d'you act like it, then?"

_Because it's the easiest way to cover up the fact that you're not. _

Sweeney ran a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to dig his nails into his scalp.

The nerve of this stress!

He turned to look back down at Toby, who was still staring up at him with confused eyes. "I think you've asked enough questions for today, boy." He muttered.

He got up and stalked back into the shop, leaving Toby there.

Toby sat alone for a while, contemplating on whether or not he should've followed.

When Sweeney came into the shop, he was still shaking his head. Whether it was for his usual reasons, or worry, he... just wasn't feeling at his best lately.

But then again, when was he ever feeling at his best?

He took a brief glance out the window, observing the familiar set outside. The street looked just as it did when he returned, months ago.

Well... his time here was now going on a year, almost. But until then, months ago.

The same little white and brown patched stray dog was lingering a few feet away from the shop, sniffing the cobblestone street in search for food of some sort. People walked on past, taking hesitant care to, as well, keep at a certain distance away from the shop in feet.

Frowning at each and every passerby without their knowledge, Sweeney averted his eyes from the window and sat down at the booth, taking care to keep his back turned to the outside world.

The cruel, harsh, unforgiving outside world.

There, he pulled out a razor and unconsciously played with it for a while, thinking about other things more so than the silver's beauty for once.

* * *

><p>Johanna closed Anthony's room's door, making her way out into the hospital's hallway. Her gaze fell upon the floor, glum.<p>

"I'll take you home, lass." The elder man, whom she still didn't know the name of, came to stand beside her.

They had taken Anthony in to tend to his injuries. They told Johanna to come back tomorrow.

Johanna argued; She would've been perfectly fine with staying the night there.

But the nurses insisted, promising Anthony would be okay.

"You are too kind, sir." She found herself saying, without even thinking about it.

"Is that so?" The man rose an eyebrow. "I hardly ever strive to be."

Johanna smiled a little. "Really, I _can _find my way home by myself."

"And yet you won't," The man stated plainly. "You and your husband are new here, from what I've gathered?"

Johanna blinked. "How did you know he..." She paused. "Well, he's _to be _my husband. He isn't yet."

"I could tell by the way you looked at him," He went on, as if she didn't even speak. "I can tell a thing like that from a mile away."

"Are you married?" Johanna asked curiously, her mood lifting a little as they began walking down the corridor.

"I was, at one time," He explained, his voice wistful, talking about it obviously bringing back memories. "But she passed not that long ago."

"Oh," Johanna frowned. "I'm sorry."

They came to the large, hospital doors and began walking down the fancy set of stairs leading to the walkway. It was pretty dark out now.

The last few coaches were clopping down the streets, heading back to the horse stables further out to the outskirts of the city.

"I try not to think about it too much," He said in a surprisingly calm manner as they reached the curb. "Life _is _for the alive, after all."

Johanna paused; What an odd saying. So unlike anything she'd ever heard before.

"Yes, I suppose it is." She agreed meekly, peering out into the street before turning to look back at him. "I should be getting home though, so-"

"Right. Let's go, then." He strode past her and took the lead immediately.

Johanna reluctantly followed, shaking her head with a small smile still frozen on her lips.

"So, sir," She naturally looked to strike up conversation again, now walking at his side. "I never caught your name. And I do think it'd be better off to start using it to address you, rather than what I've been."

"Ah," The old man looked as though it had quite plainly slipped his mind, but when he _did _remember, a smile overtook his features. "You can just call me Mr. Barker, miss."

Johanna stopped dead, her eyes round with surprise.

He continued walking though, and only realized she wasn't walking along at pace with him until he was a few feet up the walkway. He glanced back at her with confusion in his grayish-blue eyes. "Are you alright, girl?"

Johanna parted her lips to speak, but couldn't exactly find the right words. She instead picked up the pace once again, trying to keep casual. "I'm just fine, M-Mr. Barker." She forced a smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Remember: When in doubt, throw another Barker into the story.<strong>

**Yeah... this is going to get interesting soon. M'promisin' you.**

**I've gotten nine more reviews on this story without even updating. I don't think that says much, but... eh, each and every review made me very happy. So I decided to edge away from _Deathly Inherit_ for just a little while to finish this chapter and post it.**

**It's sort of choppy here and there. Picking up where I left off for so long while trying to maintain the story's old feel was a rather tough thing to do. But then again, I'm considering going back and editing all of the old chapters. I just... don't care for them as much as I used to. Reviewing and telling me you think I should do that too - or not - would be appreciated.**

**So... how was everyone's Thanksgiving? If you wouldn't mind me changing the subject, that is.**

**We were lagging behind with the food. Whether you believe it or not, my family and I did NOT eat on the 24th. We ate last night (but since it's two in the morning right now, we ate an hour or so ago. I'm just assuming by the time you read this, it'll be morning. ^^ If... if you live anywhere near Illinois, that is.). So, main point being: We didn't eat Thanksgiving dinner ON Thanksgiving. We ate a day after.**

**We fail. Sue us.**

**ANYWAY... I hope you enjoyed this chapter, even though not much happened until the very end. There'll hopefully be more Sweeney and Toby in the next one.**


	13. An Extra Shiny

**I did it!**

**This could've been done days ago, though. x.x**

**My apologies.**

* * *

><p>Toby, after a long thought, got up off the couch and headed back into the shop, where Mr. Todd still sat with a razor in hand. He casually - though nervous in mind - went to sit down by the barber, resting his half-opened fists in his lap.<p>

Sweeney didn't say a word.

Filling in a moment with complete silence, in which he breathed in just once, Toby finally cleared his throat and turned his head to peer at the troubled man who sat rigidly beside him.

"When are we leaving then, sir?"

Sweeney blinked, letting his dark eyes linger on the gleaming razor blade a second or two longer before breaking his gaze away from it and resting his eyes on the boy. "As fast as we can pack our belongings."

Toby looked a little startled at this notion, but noticing the nearly demanding way in which Mr. Todd said this, he hurriedly jumped up and headed for the threshold into the parlor once again.

Sweeney caught him around the arm just in time, however, right before he stepped out of reach. "Our _worthy _belongings."

"Wha' d'you mean?" Toby looked back at him, partially relieved that they had managed to break the silence.

"I'm invisioning us travelling light," Sweeney explained, slowly rising to his feet beside the young lad and snapping the razor closed. His hand slid up Toby's arm to rest on his shoulder in a scheming sort of way. "Grab... particular items that you could not possibly _dream _of parting with," He pointedly fingered the razor that now hung at his side while saying this, then slipped it back into its holster. "But _only _items of that fashion. I trust you'll find something to carry it in." He gave Toby a brisken pat on the shoulder.

Toby looked up at him, frowning. "Will we ever be back?"

This query apparently caught Mr. Todd off guard, because his intent expression quickly faltered. His gloved hand lost grip on Toby's shoulder, numbly falling back to his side.

Toby cringed at the barber's silence; Silence with the great Sweeney Todd was hardly ever good news.

It was, almost expectantly enough, caused by him the most lately.

"We... can't be too sure, lad," Sweeney finally stated, looking past Toby to glance around the shop with narrowed eyes. "Not anymore..."

He had long anticipated the day Johanna would be able to - though wobbly at first - walk around this home and explore the place herself for the first time. These dreams were, of course, shattered long ago.

Now, though Benjamin was not around anymore, a scrap of his dream still remained.

All Sweeney Todd wanted to do was show his nearly grown daughter where her first home was. Where she was first loved.

Not lusted over for her looks.

At this thought, Sweeney's hesitant air vanished. It was replaced by a visible feeling of anger and sadness.

And Toby was the only one in the room to notice.

"Mr. T?" He frowned, almost matching the barber's expression.

Sweeney's dark, ebony eyes jerked around the room a few more times, taking a greatly brief, but still glum stop on the marble floor. It took a sharpened nudge to the crook of his arm to snap him out of his haunting, whirling thoughts.

Toby quickly brought his hand away after doing this, flinching when the barber stiffly turned his head in his direction. "Mr. T, should I start packing some things, then?" He tried hard not the notice what Mr. Todd obviously thought he was hiding well enough.

He really wasn't hiding a thing; His face looked exceptionally pained.

He was thinking again.

Finding himself unable of speech like so many times before, Sweeney just nodded. He then turned on his heel and headed out the side door, leaving far faster than Toby did.

* * *

><p>Johanna spotted her's and Anthony's house across the street from the corner in which she and Mr. Barker stood. She turned to the older man, smiling politely.<p>

She _was _grateful. But... she couldn't exactly find it in her heart yet to be truly genuine and open to this stranger.

"Thank you... Mr. Barker," She nodded across the street as she went on. "I'm positive I can walk the rest of the way on my own."

"Are you sure?" He checked.

"Positive, as I said," Johanna smiled. "You've been wonderous help."

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes giving off nothing but thoughtfulness. "And you're impressively polite." The next question made his eyes narrow a little. "How old are you?"

Johanna stood there, one foot on, the other off the curb. "Fifteen, sir. I'm... actually turning sixteen in a short few months."

"Fifteen, and already in a steady relationship?" Mr. Barker rose an eyebrow.

"Oh, well," Johanna blushed a little as she began taking her first few steps across the street, her head still turned to look at him as she spoke. "I... don't know about..." Fighting to maintain her composure, she straightened her back and dismissively waved her hand. "We've hardly gotten to know one another, to be completely honest. But... I already have a wonderful feeling about him." She smiled to herself.

"Ah... love stories. Music to my ears." A smooth voice from a few feet away made them turn in alarm.

Johanna stared as a boy came walking up, moments after she flipped around. He looked to be around her age, or a bit older. He had bright blonde hair and hazel eyes. Above all, a sly smirk was plastered across his face as he approached.

That of a suspicious glare contorted Mr. Barker's expression, however.

"I beg your pardon?" Johanna's voice heightened in pitch, emphasizing her confusion to this statement.

"It's always good to know someone's got it better than others, my dear." He stalked right on up to her, and the "songbird", in a sense, took a hesitant step backwards.

"And who are you?" Mr. Barker asked, still glaring daggers at the teenager.

"Patrick Snayote, good sir," He bowed mockingly. His attention was all too quickly turned on Johanna after speaking though, his eyes intently seeming to scan her body up and down, and then back again. "If I'd've known conversations were being held on the streets at eleven at night, I would've been out at six to get a head start. Who doesn't fancy a chat among neighbors?"

Johanna frowned at him, her own suspicions appearing to have been triggered. Her voice had an irritable edge to it when she spoke. "Have we woken you? A dry sense of humor is something I've learnt to look out for when dealing with the angered."

Patrick's smug expression was immediately wiped away after she said this, obviously not expecting her words to ever manage containing a sting. "I... wasn't..." He straightened, an indignant glare tracing his features. "No matter."

Mr. Barker held back a snicker, tipping the hat in which he still wore over his eyes to hide this.

Johanna didn't pay attention to his amusement though. She instead stretched her eyes a little wider, faking astonishment. "Eleven at night, you said? I'd best be off to bed, in that case." She turned away.

"But I just got here, miss." Patrick called after her.

Johanna fought to keep her fists unclenched; His tone of voice miffed her just a tad, if not a lot. "Perhaps we'll pick up our conversation some other time. _Both_ of you involved, of course."

Mr. Barker hastily set his hat back into place with a flick of a single finger, then nodded to Johanna's back. "Well, night then."

Patrick looked particulary angry now. He looked as though he were getting ready to shake out a frustrated groan from his throat, but instead turned his back on the scene and stormed off.

Mr. Barker smiled a little, then followed suit and parted. He only lived down the street, after all.

* * *

><p>Sweeney paced around his shop in a rather aimless trail for about twenty minutes, thinking; His razors.<p>

That was the most thorough decision of what he had decided to pack so far.

The picture frames of both Lucy and Johanna was a second no-brainer.

He just couldn't help but think it was a slight bit miserable how these were the only solid objects he truly cared about in this room.

He, of course, was certainly not one to deem things miserable or not.

The world was miserable, after all.

Wasn't it?

Mr. Todd left a pause hang in the air, silencing his thoughts and forcing his feet to a halt. He might've been thinking too hard.

Nothing an inner voice couldn't chime into and make worse, eh?

But the heavily Cockney accented voice never... chimed. It was, like him, silent.

Sweeney considered calling out to the dead, like he most evidently was whenever he spoke to Mrs. Lovett through empty air.

Why did the woman consider herself so bloody clever, just because she's dead? If dead, wouldn't that make her the least clever of all three of them - said three being Nellie Lovett herself, Toby, and... well, one could work out the third "criminal" for themselves; Mr. Todd never did care for any gesture in his direction if he could help it.

Sweeney let out a throaty exhale, his breath caught up in an irritated growl. His eyes scanned the room again, much like he did back downstairs. From the cluttered desk against the wall, to the window, and right down to the mirror in the far, shadowy corner.

It was then that his gaze fell upon something different. Something he hadn't exactly remembered to look at since the day he arrived here: Johanna's old crib.

He stared across the room at its dusty, gloomy state. It was nearly heartwrenching to think about how different it looked so many years ago.

Hesitantly, almost nervously, Sweeney edged towards it. He faintly remembered what lay beneath the blankets. But months of bloodshed - blood red _vision_ and state of mind... it was all enough thought on the matter to prevent breath from passing through his windpipe.

When he finally reached the tiny bed, he lifted the cover as if he were doing it for the very first time.

His remembrance of this... vision - this memory - is right, then and there, clarified. Mr. Todd stared unblinking into the crib, focusing on the only item that resided in it: A ragged old doll. It lay brokenly across the bedding, long forgotten. Mainly by years of hardship.

Johanna had, at one time, held it to her small chest while she slept. Sweeney vaguely remembered passing it down to her with the warmest of fatherly smiles he could possibly wear. Lucy would sometimes stand by his side, enjoying the window's bright light and the mere company of her husband and daughter. But more oftenly, she'd head downstairs to the pie shop to chat with Nellie, who'd only halfheartedly listen to what she had to say. That left Benjamin upstairs to not only tend to his razors, but to his baby girl as well.

It took Sweeney a moment to realize the style in which these memories were brought back to him: It was as if Benjamin and he were two different men, with two different lives.

They were, no doubt.

But where did that leave Sweeney Todd?

As the murderous barber finally swept his gaze away from the spot in which his daughter had slept many times before, he felt a very bitter feeling rising into his chest; He was nothing but a trespasser to this room. A stranger. A stranger that Benjamin and Lucy would raise Johanna to steer clear of, for her safety.

Who could blame protective parents?

Despite these thoughts of crossing a certain borderline, Sweeney reached into the crib and picked up the doll, letting it lay limply over his palm. He let the covers drop without looking as he frowned at it.

This was almost the equivalent of stealing... but it wasn't like anyone was going to come back to claim it.

It was one of the few things Mr. Todd remembered quite clearly that Johanna had touched. Something he was _sure _she had touched.

He didn't need further hesitance to turn his back on the crib and carry the doll over to his desk, where a brown cloth bag was sitting.

Looking ever-so-slightly reluctant at first, Sweeney stuffed the ragged old thing into the bag, taking a brief glance over his shoulder afterwards; Toby would never let him live it down if he were to know he was packing a _doll_, of all things.

The next thing that went in was his box of murder weapons - all seven of them - sharpened and polished to perfection.

Then came the picture frames of Lucy and Johanna... what he held dearest, believe it or not (not _that _hard to believe, really. let's not get carried away here).

After this, he let his eyes rest upon the fairily stained flooring. His gaze travelled past each pannel of wood, until they met up with the loose plank near the window.

Mr. Todd stared at it in silence.

_Are you forgetting somethin', Mr. Todd?_

"I wish I could." Sweeney murmured absently, not breaking the contact in which his eyes were making with the floor.

Eventually, his feet were working on their own accord. They carried him to the loose plank, which he knelt down beside and lifted with only a tiny, fair amount of difficulty.

The space beneath the floor was old-looking and dirty, but that was understandable. It had hardly been used in years.

Fifteen, to be exact.

There was a rectangle-shaped spot in the dirt, directly below the opening, where it was perfectly clean with no dirt or dust residing upon it at all. It was obviously where his razor box had been.

For, once again, _years._

Sweeney lifted up his hand to pull the fingerless glove down further over his wrist, then lowered it again to reach through the narrow opening in the floor. He felt past the clean spot in the midst of all the dirt and strained his arm to reach further back.

Just as a sharp pain was preparing to shoot up into his shoulder, his hand touched something. With a grunt, the barber grabbed hold of the object and dragged it below the hole, where he then pulled it up and onto the floor beside him.

It was another box.

Smaller, but crafted in almost the same exact way that his razor box had been. There was a rusty latch on the side, and Mr. Todd had to pry it upwards. It was evidently very old, and had not been worked in a while.

Need one say "years" again?

When he finally got the latch to squeakily face up, he opened the top part of the box, which couldn't have been done without the tiniest of groans from the aging wood.

Sweeney peered down at another straight razor. The blade was folded in. It was resting within velvet, apparently to keep the silver from getting scratched. And as Mr. Todd inspected the gorgeous chase handle, he did, indeed, come to the conclusion that the tool was absolutely _flawless_.

Not that he didn't keep his seven shinies in the same pristine condition...

Frowning down at the barbering utensil for a single heartbeat, Sweeney closed the box's lid and re-did the latch. He then carried the box over to the bag, where he slid it in carefully next to the much bigger box, the picture frames, and Johanna's doll.

Screw whatever some naive Benjamin Barker had to say about it...

It _was_, technically, his stuff.

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, yes. The mysterious new razor's reasoning will be revealed. I was actually planning on making a separate oneshot about it. It has to do with a special part of Sweeney's past, if you didn't guess. And as crazy as it sounds, it has to do with Christmas. That's why it might just be out soon, if I can finish it. ^^<strong>

**It might even be out after Christmas. :/ I've been working pitifully slow recently, in my opinion.**

**So I don't know for sure.**

**But anyway... review, please. :)**


	14. Back Against The Bricks

**Here's a long one to make up for just how long it took. **

**^^ Enjoy.**

* * *

><p>Johanna entered into the house. She closed the door behind her and rested her back against it as soon as the sounds of the outdoors no longer hung around her ears. The silence of an empty home greeted her instead.<p>

With a heavy sigh, the teenager crossed the short hall by the door and entered into the living room.

The makeshift desk against the opposite wall caught her attention immediately - along with the piece of parchment atop it.

She walked over and sat down, looking it over with narrowed eyes.

The unfinished state of the letter made Johanna frown slightly. Anthony never got to finish.

_Dear Mr. Todd,_

_Johanna still doesn't want to read anything you say. Perhaps a visit would be necessary. I'd enjoy your company, and I'm sure she'd learn to as well. But, if I_

What to do... what to do...

After a disbelieving shake of her head, Johanna picked up the parchment and crumpled it, discarding it into the trash bag that she and Anthony had left on the floor in the process of fixing the room up. She then took another piece from the stack and renewed the tip of the quill with ink from the bottle to the right hand side of her.

She began writing.

_Dear Mr. Todd,_

_Whether it is alarming to you or not, Anthony is unable to write back to you. This is Johanna Barker, his bride-to-be. _

_There was an accident not more than three hours ago. Someone attacked Anthony and ran off before I could get a good look at them. He is now being looked after in a hospital, and it shouldn't be long now before he's released._

_If you are truly the friend that he speaks so highly of, I didn't want you to worry over the absence of his letters._

Unable to think of anything else to write, Johanna put the quill down and turned away from the parchment to let it dry. She looked down to see each of Mr. Todd's letters aside the one she had just wrote.

Picking up the most recent, she read through it with cautious eyes, as though the neatly-put, elegantly-written words were getting ready to jump out and bite her.

_Dear Antony,_

_I do apologize, but this was no misunderstanding. Perhaps only partly; I didn't recongnize her. _

_I threatened her. Please tell her I'm sorry. She didn't get caught up in the 'suspenseful moment', and when she tells you something, believe it. Don't you dare pass it off as nothing. She sounds like a very intelligent young lady, and you're lucky to have her._

_I'm happy for you two, nonetheless. My highest hope is to come and visit one day, if you'll have me. I want nothing more than to make things right with Johanna. She doesn't need to feel intimidated by me. Never._

_Sincerely, Mr. Sweeney Todd_

Johanna put the letter down, her eyes round with genuine surprise; If he wasn't just faking kindness when he wrote that, then Mr. Todd was either drunk, _or_... far nicer than he let on.

* * *

><p>Toby stood in the doorway of his room, his fists resting on his hips. Since standing here for several minutes, he couldn't exactly think of anything he sincerely wanted to bring for personal reasons. He hadn't lived there long enough to rack up any special memories with a certain object.<p>

He knew for a fact that Mr. Todd was an obvious exception, considering how long the barber had stayed there for. But he certainly didn't strike Toby as the sentimental type. Not by a long shot.

With a sigh, Toby began a stroll around his room to look for something he could pack. He was quite close to packing some parchment and a quill, but... he then figured that where ever they were going, there'd be plenty of that.

As he went through the stack anyway, he came across a sheet that tugged at his heartstrings.

It wasn't much, really. But it meant a lot to the young lad.

It was just a piece of parchment with scribbles and attempted words and letters - even a few unfinished sentences. Mrs. Lovett had written an example, and Toby had tried copying.

In the workhouse, all you learned how to do was talk and, quite obviously, work. Proper writing and spelling wasn't needed though. So when he moved in with the barber and the baker, he was trying to learn. His adoptive Mum helped.

Toby could still remember a little, though it was slowly wearing off. He never caught up with teaching himself after he and Mr. Todd were left alone, and he supposed it had to be a persistent thing when learning with the intent to keep it all in your head. He just wished he could continue once again.

Giving a small nod of his head, Toby picked up the few sheets he had scribbled on and stuffed them into a bag of his own. Then he laggingly strolled from the room, taking small glances over his shoulder as he went. It was a truly unsure thing, but he couldn't think of anything else to pack.

Later on that day, he reconsidered and went back into his room to grab his quill. Maybe travel was what he needed to pick up where he left off in the writing department...

* * *

><p>Much later that day, darkness seeped into the room from the street, and all the two beings who resided in the pie shop did was light one candle to place on the counter. Otherwise, the barber and the boy were shrouded in shadows, and lounging at the booth as they most recently found themselves doing to pass the time.<p>

Toby sat with his feet propped up on the table, staring out the window boredly. At first, he thought Mr. Todd would scold him for doing this. But it didn't take him long to realize that the man wasn't much for manners anyway.

Sweeney himself was leaned back where he sat, his hands clasped behind his head as he stared blankly up at the ceiling. It took just about the same amount of time for him as it did for Toby to realize how many cracks the ceiling had, and ultimately concluded that whoever built the place did a lousy job.

Toby, on the other hand, inwardly disagreed. He believed the cracks were from Mr. Todd working a rut into the floor from the top with his pacing.

He'd never state this thought aloud, of course.

They had agreed on leaving in the morning, and while Toby supposed he should've been getting to sleep, he oddly didn't feel like it.

It wasn't much in Mr. Todd's nature to order him to, anyhow. In that sense, and that sense _only_, Toby mentally admitted that the barber would make a pretty fun father, what with not even disciplining his children with a bedtime.

After silently admonishing himself from thinking this way, Toby cleared his throat, as if giving the barber warning that he was about to speak, and then finally opened his mouth. "What're we gonna do when we get to Plymouth, sir?"

The tight clamp Sweeney's hands still made from behind his head loosened a little at the question, but he didn't put any effort forth to drop them back to his sides when he replied. "Look for Anthony Hope."

"Why?" Toby pried, briefly reflecting again on the days where the long-haired sailor boy would come rushing into the shops without knocking once.

Just as the right words to cover up the truth were coming to rest at Sweeney's tongue, he stopped short and glanced around the room, his icy glare returning and his arms falling to rest at his lap.

There was a tap. At the window.

"What is it?" Toby muttered.

"I heard something," Sweeney answered shortly, practically slithering away from his seat to near the side door. "Stay there." He reached for his holster again, but then Toby had the sudden impulse to stop him.

"Sir,"

"What?" Sweeney turned around expectantly, raising a brow.

"If I die, what will you care?"

Nothing but silence answered Toby's out of the blue question.

But it wasn't entirely out of the blue. Not when Mr. Todd said something like "stay there" to the boy when he was about to jump headfirst into what was perceived to be danger.

Instead of answering, Sweeney just turned back to face the door, hiding his bewildered expression from the young lad's sight. He slowly creaked open the door to peer out.

Then, when Toby least expected it, the murderous barber streaked through the threshold and brought out his razor.

"_What _are _you _doing here?" he snapped coldly.

Toby got up immediately and dashed for the door. He curled both hands around the corner and poked his head outside.

_"Luke?"_ He felt resentment welling up in his chest the moment he laid eyes on the blonde-haired teenager again.

Sweeney had the boy pinned to the side of the building by the shirt collar, leering at him dangerously. Toby took an uneasy step back, having nearly forgotten how frightening the barber could be. Or at least appear.

Luke was coughing and pushing with all his might against the barber's chest, trying to get him to let up. But of course, Sweeney did no such thing.

"I won't do so much as _think _until I understand why you're here," Mr. Todd gnarled, not budging once despite all of Luke's attempts to push him off. "You've been skulking about for nearly a month now. What's your purpose?"

When Luke still didn't reply, Sweeney's grip got ever closer to his throat. Toby was preparing to jump in and stop Mr. Todd from beating Luke senseless, as much as he despised the boy. No matter who it was, he just didn't feel like watching another murder take place right in front of him again.

But then Luke spoke, to both of their surprise. "Al-alright!"

Sweeney loosened his grip on his windpipe, still sneering slightly.

Toby stepped forth fearlessly, curious as to what it was Luke had to say.

"I-I was tryin' to turn you both in. Learnin' the pattern of your life style'd 'elp me figure out where you'd be at what time of the day. I'm sorry!" Luke babbled nearly to no end, unti he finally _did _end with the pathetic apology.

Sweeney didn't look particulary angry or suspicious anymore. His face was blank.

Toby didn't exactly know what to think, so he was partially relieved when Mr. Todd came up with an emotion for him.

Confusion.

The barber resisted the urge to straightforwardly cackle at the teenager, but instead settled for a chuckle to keep his already shattered dignity intact.

"You are a contemptible, troublesome, annoying little bugger. Are you aware, lad?" Sweeney let go of Luke's shirt collar and let him fall as he stepped back, smirking down at him humorously.

"Well, do you believe me?" Luke gasped, still lying on the cobblestone ground with one hand resting at his bruised neck.

"Not for a bleedin' second, boy," Sweeney knelt down beside him to hiss these words. "You haven't spent your years on these streets in vain. I don't trust you."

Toby gazed down at the two of them, shuddering at how dreadfully calm the Demon Barber's voice sounded.

"I told you the truth," Luke, nearly confirming Sweeney's suspicions, lifted his head defiantly to bite out the words in a terse manner as if he wasn't in any pain at all. "I've got nothin' now."

"I don't like people who lie to save their own skin," Sweeney stated silkily, grabbing hold of Luke's arm and dragging him to his feet. "Try not to make the fact that you grew up without a father so obvious. Maybe then I'll contemplate you." With a flick of his arm, he sent Luke at least seven feet away from the shop without even moving from the spot in which he stood. "In the meantime, why not go visit your mother? I'm sure she's worried sick."

Luke skidded to a halt to look back at them both, frowning. Then he finally turned back around and pelted off down the street without so much as a parting word.

Toby watched him until he vanished around a corner, then looked up at Mr. Todd in confusion. "What d'you think that was about?"

"I don't know," Sweeney replied honestly, striding over to a table to sit down at the edge of a bench. "But come tomorrow afternoon, he won't be giving us anymore trouble."

"Do you really think he was lying?" Toby pressed, sitting down beside him. "Maybe he was really telling us the truth, just to make us think he wasn't planning something else."

"Well, he's planning something," Sweeney let his cold glower travel down the street. "Something that he'd certainly not give up on after a month of research."

"Research?"

"Upon us, no doubt," Mr. Todd flashed Toby a wan smile. "It all makes sense when you think about it: He knows I used to kill people. He knows he wants to turn me in. But he also knows they'll never take me alive."

"They'll never take _me _alive either." Toby put forth the words boldly, but Sweeney just snorted.

What a bloody killjoy.

"I'll make sure they bring no harm to you," Sweeney promised, briefly clamping one hand over Toby's shoulder. "I daresay you'll need it." He got up fleetingly to head back inside.

"Oi! Who says I'll need it?" Toby jumped up from his seat to trot after the barber, surprised when the man didn't slam the door in his face; He rather left it open for him.

"You will," When Sweeney turned to face him again, his expression suggested the comings of something serious. "I was in my late 30's the first time I..."

Toby remained silent, prompting him.

"The first time I cut someone's life short," the barber explained, his voice retaining its blunt sound.

"And...?" Toby pressed.

"Hmph," Sweeney snorted at his foolishness at the time. "Couldn't sleep for weeks... not that it was any easier before."

"What 'appened?" Toby inquired, sliding back into the booth.

Immediately picking up the opportunity to play the role of storyteller, Sweeney leaned against the door casually, flicking the razor in and placing it back into its holster. "It was... a scuffle by the holes we were digging, out in the desert. With enemies such as the ones I had gained, well... I thought it silly to use a shovel for anything but dispatching."

Toby cringed, already imagining the gruesome sight for himself. "You... you didn't 'ave your razors, then?"

"No. Wish I did." Sweeney answered shortly.

"And... not that I don't already 'ave an idea, but... 'ow exactly did you make enemies there?" Toby was just asking out of mere curiosity, but he figured the answer was obvious.

He realized fast that the real answer was not what he had expected.

"Oh," Sweeney pinched the bridge of his nose. "The moment I stepped into my first cell, I was a new, interesting sight to those inmates."

"'Ow d'you mean?"

"I wasn't all muscle - that's for sure," Sweeney shook his head at the clear-as-day memory; He was picked on every single day by the inmates, and ignored by any man who was not under the restraint of cells and chains. He was known as the pretty boy of Botany Bay. Nothing more. Some men who were locked up there for real, homicidal reasons complained about him - how he wasn't even prison material. And he wasn't. So he decided to shape himself into just that, and by the time he was finished doing so, he gave every inmate something to truly complain about: Why they had to share a cell with him.

He went from being the pretty boy of Botany Bay to the most dangerous man in Australia.

As if he could read Mr. Todd's next becoming thoughts, Toby spoke after a great period of silence he left for the barber to think. "When did you escape?"

"I was 42 the day I had begun planning an escape. I attempted for the first time at the age of 43, and... I ended up returning to the old drawing board." Sweeney shook his head ruefully at the thought. "After they caught me again, they kept me in a... special cell. One I was unable to escape from. They had long ago banned shovels from Botany Bay, and I was honestly fine without them. But this... this was a step over the line. It was frustrating. There wasn't a single window. I lost track of days. There were weeks where I wouldn't be spoken to at all - not once. And apparently, getting fed daily was no longer in the question." By this time, the Demon Barber was seething as all these customs of prison life were returning to his head.

Toby frowned up at him. "I'm sorry, sir. But... 'ow did you eventually get out?"

"Late at night," Sweeney explained. "a guard paced a touch too close to my cell, and I reached through the bars and suffocated him. I got hold of the keys he carried on him, and managed to unlock my cell. Then I came to the cells that housed the few aquaintances I made and broke them free as well. In the end, we all made it to the nearest body of water we could find. As we were jumping in, I was shot in the ankle. I don't know how fortunate one can really be sometimes, I guess..."

"What about the others?" Toby demanded, truly engrossed in the story by now.

"They were all shot down. Killed." Sweeney replied grimly, finally pushing away from the door to sit down across from Toby. "Then I found a raft, and it kept me afloat for a very long time... even after I passed out atop it. When I woke up, I was on board the _Bountiful_. The ship in which I met Anthony Hope on."

"'E saved you?" Toby murmured disbelievingly.

"That he did," Sweeney gave a single nod of his head. "The boy had a good pair of eyes on him."

_A good enough pair to seek out and meddle with my daughter, at least. _he bitterly added these words in silence.

Toby always saw the sailor boy as a bit of a nuisance, but he supposed he might've been jumping to conclusions just a bit. But then again, he always saw contempt in Mr. Todd's eyes whenever he spoke of Anthony...

"Well, curse my overcontrolling ways, but... you really should get some sleep," Sweeney got up out of the booth again. "You'll be getting up early tomorrow."

"Right... uh... can you please not come to my bedside again?" Toby asked delicately, slipping out of the booth to stand beside the barber. He gazed up at him sheepishly.

"Hm," The slightest hint of a smile creeped across the barber's face. "Fine, boy. Wake yourself up." He nodded to Toby once last time before turning his back on him and opening the door. He slipped outside, breathing in the night air - the last time he'd ever breathe in Fleet Street's night air for a long time. Then he headed up the stairs.

Toby was watching after him until he vanished with a brief smile. He then turned on his heel and came back to his room to take off his shoes and lay down for the little night he had left.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm proud of how long this chapter is. C:<strong>

**I especially like the bit where Sweeney and Toby are lounging at the booth. Just kicking back like a pair of dozing lions. :3 I had that image of them two like that stuck in my head for a while now, and I needed to put it into words eventually.**

**I can honestly say (though regretfully) that half the production for the making of this chapter was me with my head down on my desk, listening to "Don't Stop Believin'" by the Glee Cast while I suffer headaches and menstrual pains.**

**Too much information for you? My apologies. (,:**

**Eh... yes. Please review. I'm not stretching the truth when I say reviews are what drive me to go on. **


	15. Just Predict It

**I am... _so_ terribly sorry it took so long.**

**I'm hoping they'll get longer. I have more to say, but I'll leave it for the end. XD**

**Enjoy. :)**

* * *

><p>It was morning, and Johanna was walking down the hospital corridor. She was calmer than the night before, what with a rest and a clearer head. Clearer than it had been in days.<p>

She slipped into a room and walked down a tiny isle to Anthony's bed, where the sailor boy was lying underneath a blanket, sleeping.

There were stitches in his head, and Johanna cringed at the sight of them. She gingerly sat down beside him to run her soft hand across his forehead, brushing away strands of overhanging hair.

Sunlight was just beginning to filter into the room from the shaded window to the far back of it, nearer to where Anthony slept.

Johanna was in no rush to wake him up; He needed his rest, after all.

But the young girl felt content enough to sit and watch him sleep, taking in his full appearance for what felt like the first time ever. His face _was_, surely, a little more feminine in shape than most. But Johanna didn't mind; If he didn't have that, he just wouldn't be Anthony. _Her_ Anthony.

"Careful, lass!" A voice behind her made Johanna jump.

She turned, immediately thrown face-to-face with a man just a little past his prime - in appearance - and clad in a white doctor's coat.

"Um..." Johanna began, lost. "Why, if I may ask, sir?"

His voice evened out when he replied, sounding much more patient now. "You'll undo the stitching if you prod too much."

"Oh," Johanna's hand recoiled from Anthony's face, startled. "I'm-I'm sorry, I-"

"That's alright," He leaned down, examining the threaded incisions. "Lad should be up any minute now, anyhow. If his wounds burst, at least he'll be awake, eh?" He spoke as though the matter was a joke, even if his face remained impassive as he looked the sailor boy over.

Johanna narrowed her eyes at him, not even at the center of the notion's attention but still feeling fairily offended by it.

Some folks were just really nice, while others were rude.

And then... then, of course, there was the murderous...

* * *

><p>The train station was loud. Loud and bustling. Even more so than the marketplace, where Toby recalled seeing his Mum for the first time. And though he had no clue he'd be seeing her again, he remembered just how caring she looked, even if she chose to hang around with such individuals as, say, the Demon Barber.<p>

And speaking of the man himself, Toby had to crane his neck over heads and through openings in the wave of the crowd to see Mr. Todd, who didn't seem entirely keen on making sure the young lad was keeping up with him.

Still, spotting the barber's hair was an easy way of following him.

Jet black with a white streak - it wasn't something you'd normally see in Victorian London.

Oddly enough - and despite the fact that one could take a single look at Sweeney and guess that he was an anti-social character to the bone - he looked at home, walking through the station with only secret glares at the people who'd momentarily irk him. Hardly anyone spared him a second glance, because he rarely made direct eye contact with the public.

Hurriedly, Toby slipped through the next opening he could find and trotted after his older companion, surprised at just how glad he was to be travelling with someone who knew the ropes of the harsh world better than he did.

Thinking more rather than putting one foot in front of the other, Toby only realized he was going to trip into a man ahead of him when it was too late to be prevented. He stumbled and nearly knocked some guy over.

The man flipped around, glaring daggers. "Watch where you're going, boy!"

"S-sorry," Toby stuttered, clutching his bag of belongings closer to him as he sidestepped the man with caution.

"And," Sweeney was saying, obviously not noticing that Toby only just then reached his side. "she wouldn't speak to me for the rest of the night, all because I-" He stopped mid speech when he noticed Toby's breathing was abnormally fast. "What's got you all ruffled, lad?"

"Some guy just, uh... yelled at me. No big-"

"Who?" Sweeney stopped in the middle of the crowd, and Toby only halted a few paces ahead of him.

"_No big deal_, I said," Toby insisted, turning on his heel to face the barber. "I thought you said you didn't want to miss the train."

"I don't," Sweeney muttered, striding forward with one hand clutching the holster beneath his coat and the other holding his luggage bag. He was opening his mouth again, as though he were about to add on to that statement, only to hiss instead as the same man from before shoved into his back.

He whirled around, baring his teeth and reaching for his razor.

"Whoa, sir," The man Toby had shoved into lifted his hands in a gesture of peace, looking alarmed at Mr. Todd's immediate ferocity. "Shoving is inevitable.

Everyone is bumping into one another. Please, I-"

"Bloody idiot," Sweeney grumbled, turning around yet again and grabbing Toby's shoulder, walking off only to be stopped by the man's call.

"Your son ain't all that better!"

_That _was when time slowed for Toby. It was as if the whole room went quiet, despite the fact that he was just imagining things.

Sweeney stopped, his face blank. His hand slid off Toby, twitching emptily at his side. He swiveled his head around, peering at the man through a deep, ebony glare. "What?"

"Your son," The man snapped. "Bumped right into me. I'm the bloody idiot, and he's not?"

Sweeney strode toward him immediately, grabbing him by the shirt collar as soon as he was in reaching distance. He didn't bring out the razor, as that would attract too much attention.

"He's not my son. And if you're so furious, why not take it out on me, instead of a child?"

It was a challenge.

The man's reasoning was all too clear though: He only picked on Toby because Toby was just a boy.

But no one in the right mind would screw with Sweeney Todd. The very presence of him was intimidating, and even if you got past that, things weren't all that pretty.

Toby was a little put off at this; Did he really look that weak?

The man managed to slip out of Sweeney's grasp and slink away. "R-really, I.. I _am _sorry."

Mr. Todd glared after him for a moment, a growl rising in his throat. He suppressed it, however, and rushed Toby onward.

"Let's leave."

* * *

><p>"J-Johanna?"<p>

"Antony," Johanna sighed as her husband-to-be lifted her hand to his lips to kiss it, relief washing over her.

"He'll... remember you," stated his doctor, as if knowing he was reassuring Johanna. "Maybe not the events that took place before he passed out, but... he'll remember every_one_."

"Antony," Johanna murmured, getting low to whisper in the sailor's ear. "I sent a letter to Mr. Todd. You... couldn't, obviously."

"You did?" Anthony smiled up at her drowsily, pleased despite his condition. "Thank you, love."

"Don't mention it," Johanna briefly looked away, thinking, before turning back to him with suspicion lit in her eyes. "Did you get a good look at the person who attacked you?"

"Oh," Anthony shook his head out, as if that question was bringing him back to his conscious senses. "He was... rather tall. Blonde hair. But that was... all I remember."

"Alright," Johanna's voice was gentle as she adjusted his blankets. "Why don't you get back to sleep then? You still look tired."

"I-I may just," Anthony responded, looking distant as he closed his eyes again.

"We'll keep an eye on him, miss." The doctor promised, sympathy in his tone.

"No, no, I'll be sticking around," Johanna insisted, pulling up the wooden chair that resided next to the window. "I couldn't imagine just leaving him."

"Hmm... Very well."

Johanna watched as the doctor headed out, then switched her gaze from him to Anthony, who was slowly drifting off.

She sat by the window for an hour or so, thinking, comforted by the sleeping presence of Anthony. Then she resorted to getting up and pacing around the room, taking peeks at some of the books on the bookshelves that hung on the walls. She barely noticed when an evidently familiar stranger entered the room, carrying a glass with him. She jumped when she heard this person clear their throat, and when she turned, she realized it was Patrick. Patrick Snayote, wasn't it? The young man whom she met the other night while parting with Mr. Barker.

"Patrick," Johanna sighed, though she wasn't sure whether she should've been relieved or not. "You startled me."

"My apologies," He reached out, promptly handing her the glass he brought in. "I brought you some water."

"Oh," She took it, slightly confused at this suspiciously driven act of kindness. "Thank you."

Patrick's eyes shifted over to Anthony sleeping, and Johanna noticed the small wave of darkness that seemed to creep across his visage.

She tilted her head. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes, I'm very well," He held out his hand to her with a smile, and with her own inner hesitance, Johanna took it. "Are _you _alright, my dear?"

Johanna's eyes glazed over to Anthony again for a few brief seconds. When they met Patrick's gaze once more, they were perfectly focused. "If I may ask, Mr. Snayote... How did you find me again?" She didn't mean to sound rude, if she did. But she gave this young man no knowledge as to where she had been, or where she took Antony to get treated, for that matter.

The fact that he found her... It unnerved her a bit.

"I'm... sorry," Patrick chuckled softly. "I know it may seem rather... contriving of me. I could hardly imagine what you must be going through."

Johanna squinted at him, trying to detect any sign of shiftiness that'd give away a deeper meaning for his reasoning. What he just said to her in response - it didn't answer her question. "Did you see anything happen at night that had to do with the attack?"

"Well, this area may look appealing at day," Patrick put forth. "But at night, hooligans run about the streets. That is why it is safe to stay inside, where no dangers can reach you."

Johanna shrugged uncomfortably and walked over to the bedside table to place the glass of water down, but not without taking a sip from it first. It was just as scary of a thought to know that a wild gang of hoodlums could attack you when you leave your house at night for only a mere few seconds. That _was _about how long Anthony was outside for.

Were they wise to settle down there?

"I'm sorry," Patrick came to the opposite side of Anthony's bed, looking troubled. "I didn't mean to worry you. Is something the matter?"

"No," Johanna shrugged it off.

Patrick was silent, but it didn't take her long to go back on what she said, even if he didn't look at her a certain way to coax out the truth beforehand.

"Well, yes," she sighed. "Anthony," She gestured to the sailor in the bed. "He... he and I were going to be getting married. This event... It's just unfortunate to be happening now, is all."

"I see," Patrick was staring at her as she peered at the young man's knocked out visage in the afternoon light that flitted in through the windows, all the while having one thought running through his mind: _I knew it._

* * *

><p>"You've got to be careful," Sweeney muttered, edging along the corridor of compartments on the still train to Plymouth with Toby tagging along behind him. "Don't trip. I'm not picking you up."<p>

"Oh," Toby found humor in this false statement. "Sure you would."

"Well," Sweeney allowed a faint smile to graze his lips. "if I did, I wouldn't be doing it again."

Toby grinned, but he didn't reply. There were some conversations he had with the barber that had no specific end; They just weren't brought up for the purpose of having an end.

"Watch your head," Mr. Todd warned over his shoulder, and a little too late; Toby hit his forehead on the way into the compartment they had chosen to settle in.

"Ugh," Toby rubbed at the place where the pain started, soon finding it travelling to the back of his noggin. "Something's tellin' me you saw that."

All Sweeney had to do was turn on the spot when he reached the window to the back of the compartment and sit, and Toby noticed the snicker the barber was struggling to suppress.

Just as Toby was preparing to go on the defensive (for his pride, of course), Mr. Todd held up a hand.

"I didn't know it was there. Really."

"Well, good," Toby sat down opposite him, no longer thinking about just how close they physically were to one another. A month or so ago, he would've cringed at the thought of sitting in a closed in space with the barber. "I should think so."

Sweeney rose an eyebrow. "Toby."

Toby jerked his head in his direction, silent.

"Don't talk to me like that."

Toby had to do a double take to make sure he heard the man right. "Is that... a test?"

Mr. Todd was more curious now than anything. "Why would you think that, lad?"

The train seemed to be started up just then, and Toby couldn't help but look out the window as he saw the train start to move. He didn't make it apparent that this made him the slightest bit skittish, however. He'd never been on a train before, after all.

"Toby?"

"Oh, eh," Toby sat up straight, tilting his head forward. "It's jus' that, uh... Well, I think I misjudged you, a while back."

Now, bewilderment was adopted into Sweeney's swiftly changing moods. "How so?"

"Well, I was right about the killing bit," The boy quickly said. "But you're... not too bad."

"No matter how high I aimed?" Sweeney muttered bitterly.

Toby laughed, but the barber didn't echo it. On the contrary, Sweeney looked out the window with a sullen look on his face. Toby sighed and propped his elbow up on the frame of the window, then rested his chin in the palm of his hand.

Surely, it was going to be a long ride. Maybe even after they got off the train.

No matter. He was just predicting.

* * *

><p><strong>Once again, I'm sorry. The next update should hopefully be sooner.<strong>

**What I can't wait to say is that I just have so much planned for this story and its conclusion. ^^ I'm just not sure how to execute it all...**

**I'll figure out a way. This was the first _Sweeney Todd _story I ever thought up to be my own, and I'm not going to be leaving it to hang without an ending. That much I promise you.**

**Review. Please? ;D**


	16. Their Shield

**Yeah, uh...**

**Please have mercy on my soul. Please. ;_;**

* * *

><p>When you turn a couple few corners beyond Fleet Street, a particular street with an abandoned household by the corner will be seen. The old, creaky front door was unexpectedly slammed open, making the small, white and brown stray dog nearby yelp and run off.<p>

Luke had his arms crossed over the strap of the brown messanger bag he was carrying on him, over his shoulder. He stopped on the cobblestone and distractedly reached into the bag, muttering to himself. After this - and whatever he planned to do with his belongings appearing unsuccessful - he kept walking. Back in the direction of Fleet Street, his fists clenched at his sides the whole way there.

As the street grew louder with the more prominent commotion of people walking about from shop to shop, Luke's eyes finally settled on the pie emporium.

He slithered to the curtained window and peered in, frowning when he saw neither the barber nor the boy. Just in case, he made a round up the side steps to the barbershop above, and as he stared through the glass, there was no sign of Mr. Todd.

The razor box was gone... And the photo frames, too...

Glaring with suspicion now, he ran back down the steps, ignoring the looks a few Londoners were giving him in their passing of the building. He came to the side door, surprised when it opened without a protest of any sort.

When he stepped in, the pie shop was eerily quiet. To make sure no one truly noticed his trespassing from the outside, he closed the door behind him, suddenly quite grateful for the thin curtains that blocked peoples' view of him.

When the shop was in business, enough unexpected people showed up there randomly as it was, anyway...

As soon as the door was closed, the worn-down, marble floor was flecked with moving shadows, as the curtains wisped about in the chilly draft.

Luke, trying to stifle and calm the quick, hard pounding of his heart, ventured further in. A tiny, continuous noise was sounding in the parlor. Little _ticks_, like those which would come from a clock.

As he passed the ominous, sloped double doors to his left - which led down to the bakehouse - in the small hallway, Luke finally turned the corner into the room to see the noise came from just that: a clock.

Releasing a breath, Luke turned right back around and faced the heavy, steel, double doors again. With an effort, he wrenched them open. Nearly unconsciously, as though he'd been doing it for years.

The dark staircase below seemed to stretch on forever in front of him, and slowly, he gave in to the urge of heading down them, keeping as quiet as could be for his own safety. His face almost collided with the next steel door, but he went hands first to make sure he didn't bump into anything.

He felt for the sliding lock and gradually opened it, cringing at the squealing, creaking noise to follow.

In front of him was a dark room, no longer lit by the fire of the bakehouse oven. Swallowing, Luke reached into his bag and pulled out a match, promptly scraping the tip across the dank brick wall and letting it catch fire, bringing the cold room to light.

No one was there.

And even more astonishing; It was _clean_. All the bloodstains were gone, clean as a whistle.

Luke looked around, his mouth agape. He couldn't believe it. He _refused _to believe it.

_They left! _his mental voice exclaimed, outraged. _I was _so_ ruddy close!_

Stamping his foot down to the stone floor beneath him in a nearly childish manner, he flipped around on the spot, waving the match's fire out with a flick of his wrist as he went, leaving the gentle smoke fog to follow him in his wake.

He stormed back up the stairs and abruptly turned the corner back into the pie shop, not bothering to close the doors behind him. He sat down at the edge of the booth and whipped out a piece of parchment and a quill, still fuming. Ink got all over the place as he wrote, his writing hand shaking with the effort.

_Dear Pat,_

_Cousin. Always up for a challenge, aren't you? I've got a special request, if you don't mind me. You see... A madman is out to kill me._

It was an outright lie, given the real situation. But then again, had he gotten any further onto the barber's nerves, he probably would've been dead by now.

_He and his... son of sorts are headed for Plymouth._

And he knew that for a fact. Listening in on several of their conversations, before his cover had gotten blown a day before.

_He needs to be stopped before he does anymore damage, Patrick. You're strong, and you have a hearty few lads behind you, if I am correct? I've got my measly group - not nearly as strong and powerful as yours... I'll be arriving in Plymouth sharply. Brace yourself, Cousin._

_In a great state of shock and worry, Luke._

He couldn't help but snicker at that last part, and think about what rubbish it really was.

* * *

><p>After some technical difficulties, the train started moving again after being out in the thundering rain for about a half an hour in the dead of night.<p>

A few relieved sighs filled the corridor, and Sweeney backed into his and Toby's compartment again, scowling, and raising his voice for all the passangers on the train to hear as he did so, "S'about bloody time!"

A few laughs responded to his outburst, and Toby smirked as the man sat back down beside him.

"They're doing their best, Mr. T," he reasoned. "Can't blame 'em."

Sweeney snorted. "Debris and dregs, lad."

Rain pelted the window, and steadily, Toby reached up with a hand to feel the glass. It was ice cold.

"Funny," he remarked, quiet. "On our way out of London, it's givin' us a cold, bitter send off."

"There's nothing good to remember," Sweeney stated grimly. "Look straight ahead, and don't look back."

Toby frowned, trying to find sense in the barber's words. He found nothing, though. "Isn't... Isn't that what Mum kept tryin' to get you to do?" It didn't make him uncomfortable to say it. Just scared. "I, 'course, had no clue what she was sayin'. Maybe I should've asked once in a while, 'stead of jumping to conclusions..."

The Demon Barber's jaw clenched, and Toby cringed, immediately regretting saying a word to him in the first place.

But then, in a gradual process, Sweeney sighed, his voice inaudible to Toby's ears. "Maybe I... should've listened mo-" He cut himself off to clear his throat, pounding a fist against his chest once. "...more."

Toby put his feet up on the identical seat across from them, gazing down at his lap. "M'sorry, Mr. T. Gotta quit bringin' it up, right?"

Sweeney's brows pulled together, looking a little more concerned than angry. "Speak freely of your Mum, Toby." His arm made brushing contact with the boy's, but he was too rapped up in memories to notice. "Just... please do not speak of Lucy."

Toby nodded, having just then noticed he was biting his lip the whole time the man was talking. "I will remember her every year, Mr. Todd," he promised, sitting up a little taller in the seat and raising his hand to his temple in a little salute, making Sweeney chuckle and pat his shoulder.

"Ain't required." He looked away when Toby's affects of humor wore off him, his arm dropping back down. "I can remember her on my own."

"Just 'cause I wasn't born don't mean I can't try to remember how she used to be, b'fore..."

Sweeney firmly pressed his back against the seat as the train rolled on, releasing a sigh. "Damn Judge."

An hour or so passed, and Toby eventually moved onto the opposite seat to sleep. Sweeney sat across from him, upright and alert. He let his dark eyes fall upon the dripping, cold window that he sat beside, shaking his head.

They were leaving London behind. He would be meeting with Johanna and Anthony again, soon. Things would be looking up. He was sure.

* * *

><p>"I've said, Patrick," Johanna stood back first against the front door of her's and Anthony's residence, smiling good naturedly at the young man in front of her. "And for goodness sake, we're already here."<p>

Patrick chuckled at her exasperated tone, with a hint of humor to it. "My apologies, Ms. Barker."

"You say that an awful lot," Johanna murmured, peering up at him with genuine curiosity now. "You need not apologize so much. And you may call me Johanna. I don't mind."

Patrick dipped his head. "Then I will call you Johanna."

Johanna smiled. Somehow, this boy had gotten her into a very good mood as an oppose to what she originally was that morning: worried. She was so very worried for Anthony and his state, but by now, she wasn't nearly as much. No one had ever really attempted to up her mood before...

"Good. Now, if you will excuse me, I'll be heading to bed. Do _not_ wait up, Mr. Snayote." She was teasing, obviously. Her smile proved that.

"Tomorrow, then?"

She had began heading in, but Johanna ended up stopping in her tracks, and a slight frown reached her face. She turned back around to face him. "You... sound so sure."

"Well, we live so close together." Smiling, Patrick picked up a piece of her yellow hair that was hung over her shoulder and twirled it around in his fingers, nonchalant. "Perhaps we could get to know one another better."

Johanna gave him a weak smile in response. "Yes... I'd like that, Patrick."

Patrick didn't say anything this time around. He just smiled. Then he was off, a skip to his step, leaving Johanna bewildered as she pulled her front door open and stepped in, leaning her back against the inner side of it in the warmth of her's and Anthony's roomy household that wasn't quite complete yet.

Home sweet home?

Not... yet.

Johanna wasn't sure, actually. Judge Turpin's manor never felt much like home, though she grew bitterly used to it. This place didn't feel like home because she wasn't used to it yet. But maybe when the place lived up to her expectations in looks, memories would start to build...

She hoped so.

She headed into the parlor and sat down on the couch she and Anthony just bought days before to run a hand through her yellow hair, lonely. Would inviting Patrick in for some company have been a good idea?

Partially, she didn't like the idea. It would feel wrong to know she was having fun in their new house with a stranger, while Antony was suffering away over his injuries in the hospital without anyone looking after him but the unfamiliar nurses and doctors.

_No, _Johanna thought dismissively, unable to help making a useless waving gesture with her hand for no one to see anyway. _I'd never do that. Never._

* * *

><p>Back at the second train station in the 24 hours of this strange experience, Toby stepped off board with Mr. Todd, watching as the practiced man immediately slipped into the large crowd and started walking in a random direction, his bag of luggage in hand.<p>

"D'you know where you're goin', sir?" he asked, breathless. "Antony never gave an address or map, did he?"

"Never got the chance to, I don't think," came the thoughtless reply.

"An' why is that?"

"We left too fast," Sweeney responded matter-of-factly, not breaking in stride despite his faltering tone. Maybe he was getting tired of all the boy's questions.

Toby rolled his eyes agitatedly. "Could've waited a little longer."  
>"I'll find it, boy," the barber retorted icily. "Just walk behind me. Offer some verbal support, if you feel so obliged."<p>

A half smile finding his lips, Toby walked a little faster to match the barber's pace, wanting to see the man's expression to know whether or not he was being truly serious.

To his surprise, Sweeney was shooting a determined glare straight ahead, looking very intent on what he was doing. Toby slowed his gait yet again, not wanting to make eye contact with the barber.

Someone quite obviously wasn't in the mood to talk. And he wanted to find out why, in all honesty. Because - to which he'd refuse to admit - he had come to care about Mr. T's well being. He didn't know why. He didn't know how it was even possible. Was it just because the wretched man was the only form of a shield from loneliness that Toby was too afraid to face? He knew he didn't want to feel alone again, but... surely there were other forms of better company out there than a man who used to murder his clients? Surely getting mistreated in a workhose was a better option than getting yelled at by a man who used to _kill _other people?

Frowning, Toby sped up his pace and shook his head to clear it when he realized Mr. Todd made an abrupt turn for the exit of the building.

Another question was beginning to fizz in his mind: Will Plymouth be any different from London? Less gloomy? Less... depressing?

But Toby knew, deep down, that London probably wasn't as depressing for some people as it was for he and Mr. Todd. Some folks lived out their lives happily in that city, perhaps, and raised a nice family that somehow managed to narrowly avoid Sweeney Todd's wrath.

Nodding at this conclusion, Toby reached Sweeney's side again as they entered the outdoors. Immediately, they both ducked their heads and closed their eyes when the sun hit them. The searing, unforgiving sun.

Toby was about to question the barber as to what it was, having not recongnized its bright, warm strength at first, until he realized and remembered.

Yes. This place was exceptionally different to London.

Either that, or the only way Toby saw London was with a dark shroud surrounding it. He knew that was the way Sweeney thought of it.

"Something else we'll need to get used to," Toby was surprised when Mr. Todd's voice sounded beside him, as he wasn't expecting more words from the man for a while. He found himself comforted when he felt the older man's hand on his shoulder, steadying him.

_No fret. This'll work. The sun won't kill us._

Blinking several times, Toby lifted his head and opened his eyes, still needing to squint. He thought he saw the smug outline of a grin on the barber's palid face, and with force, he blindly shoved the man away, gritting his teeth.

"Leave it to you to find somethin' funny that others don't."

"It's what I live for, Toby," Sweeney claimed, his voice warm to match the beams of sunlight that hit the cobblestone pavement below them.

That wasn't always the truth, but he wasn't dead yet. He might as well have made the most of life for then. Johanna was still out there, after all...

For the rest of their walk until they found shade, the barber kept close contact with the boy. He didn't let him out of his sight. Not once.

* * *

><p><strong>I know, I know... *hides face*<strong>

**For such a long time for an update, I made such little progress, and this chapter is so pitifully short. But... I just needed to get back into the groove of this story. Completely and fully. I've been so sidetracked by other things, including ideas for future stories that I've been pondering for one too many days long. I want to get this story done by the time the year is over! It should've been finished last year, really. **

**My updates are just so... blah.**

**Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter for what it is! Hopefully the next will be longer, if the writer's block that's been plaguing me doesn't strike first. I know I may seem like I'm using writer's block as a cover up, but... trust me, I'm not. x.x Any true writer would know that writing spurs come on impulse, and when you feel the need to write, you do it without trouble. Lately, that has been... the opposite of me. 'xD**


	17. Called Off

**Yay! Much sooner update!**

**A lot goes on in this chapter. A lot. c:**

* * *

><p>"Good God," mumbled Toby, ducking under the shade of a roofed booth in the marketplace area. "How can folks possibly live like this?"<p>

"I'm not asking that," Mr. Todd countered, on a heated debate with the stout man behind the counter of the booth itself, prompting him as to whether or not he'd seen Anthony or Johanna pass by. "_Have _you seen either a young man with a sailor jacket and long hair, or a young woman with yellow hair and pale skin?"

"No people of the sort have passed by, sir," snapped the man. "I'll have to ask you and your son to leave, unless you're planning on purchasing something as an oppose to using my roof for shade."

Sweeney glanced down, eyeing the pastries on display, before snorting and backing off. "I've known better service in London. Come, lad." Grabbing Toby's arm, he dragged him away, back out into the sunlight. "For bloody September, it's not getting any colder."

"Maybe you're makin' yourself sweat. Walkin' and thinkin' too much," Toby implied, trying to make it clear to the barber that he seriously would've liked to take a break and sit down.

Preferably in a pub. With shade and gin.

"You're sweating too," Sweeney pointed out, taking his hand away when he realized he was still holding the boy's arm. "Hell, my hand is damp from touching you."

Toby unconsciously nodded, expecting that response. "Just for you alone, Mr. T. You think yourself into gettin' your head all overheated."

Sweeney was silent for a moment. Then he passed a glare down at the boy, not bothering to slow his pace. "You are starting to sound like Mrs. Lovett. It irks me."

Toby looked away, being the one to dismiss the conversation for once. All Mr. Todd did was carry on walking and looking straightforward as they made their way out of the marketplace, seeing no use in staying there any longer.

* * *

><p>Mr. Barker liked taking walks in the morning and, on occasion, the afternoon, despite his old age. He often came home with an aching back and legs, but he didn't let that stop him. It was only odd what he found himself bumping straight into while on one of his strolls along the pavement. Him being himself, he'd probably call it a coincidence. For sure, he had no clue of the value of this meetup. No clue at all.<p>

When a yellow-haired, teenaged girl - young but ever so elegant - crossed his path, a blonde haired boy walking beside her, he knew he could've only run into the girl he had met a few days prior. Johanna.

"Oh!" Johanna took a startled sidestep when she noticed the older man standing a few feet away, promptly tipping his hat to her before casting a suspicious glare at the boy she walked beside. "Mr. Barker," she breathed. "It's nice to see you again, sir. You've met Patrick, I believe?"

"I have," agreed Mr. Barker, surprised when the young man in front of him held out a hand. With hesitance, he took it, wrenching it up and down just twice in a stiff, awkward shake.

"If I'm not too nosy to ask, why're you out here?" Patrick asked, being the one to abruptly pull his hand away with a barely hidden scowl when he noticed the look the older man was giving him. He knew the answer, and he knew Mr. Barker knew he knew the answer.

His only goal was to pester.

"I'm afraid you _are _being too nosy," Mr. Barker lied, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "It is none of your concern." His eyes grazed Johanna's for a moment. Then, after a bothered twitch of the muscle beneath his right eye, he shuffled past them. "Good to see you again, Johanna. Perhaps we'll run into one another again."

Patrick hid his face from his companion for a moment, to openly roll his eyes in the other direction. Then he lightly took Johanna's shoulder. "C'mon, Ms. Barker, we'll need to ma-"

"Oh, Patrick," Johanna smiled fondly, having taken on brief confusion at the exchange between the two men but ultimately deeming it silly to think anything unusual was happening. "You shan't call me that any longer, remember? We're friends." As she said this, she hadn't realized Mr. Barker stopped from behind, not quite turning around yet but still holding a face containing shock.

A strange look twisted Mr. Barker's face. He finally brought himself to shift around on the spot, just as Johanna and Patrick were walking away. "Ms. Barker?"

In turn, Johanna stopped too; She couldn't ignore that address towards herself. In any other case, that _was _her name. It was just peculiar coming from the mouth of a man who - take away the "Ms." and replace it with a "Mr." - was addressed in that same exact way.

"Yes, Mr. Barker?" she said softly, her head swiveling around. After a few moments, her whole body followed.

In between them, Patrick held a cheeky smile. "Well... _this_ is just our daily dose of bemusement for the day, ain't it?"

* * *

><p>"Right, right," Sweeney waved a hand in the air, brushing off Toby's insisting voice. "I'll bet you start puttin' the word "love" at the end of every sentence, eh?"<p>

Toby crossed his arms, unamused. "I've said it once, an' I'll say it again, Mr. T: Tha' ain't funny."

"And I don't think I want to give you another example of what is," Sweeney stated, clearly the opposite of unamused as he draped his arm around the back of the lad's neck, pulling him to his side. "All in all, Toby," he droned, peering up at the clear blue sky above them. "It wasn't all bad, was it?"

"Ugh," Toby was trying desperately to pull himself away from the barber's strong, one-armed clutch. "No. Not at all. M'mean, if you're a devotee to manslaughter, I s'pose it'd be just dandy."

Sweeney's grip on him tightened. "Careful. You might be next."

"Truthfully," Toby began, in all sincerity (but really, we all know better than to think that). "I highly doubt it, Mr. Todd. You're set on teasin' me, but that's all, isn't it?"

"Right," Mr. Todd's grasp loosened, and Toby was able to breathe again. "That's all..." He paused, and Toby really thought the discussion was over, until the man spoke those last few syllables. "...But, Toby, you just can't be too sure. The voices may instruct me to do otherwise, and then where would we be?"

Really, the joke was ruined. Because the barber laughed before the boy did. In question, Toby looked horrified at the aspect for a reason Sweeney couldn't quite fathom. Then he cracked a weak smile when he realized it was just a kid.

This weak smile quickly turned to adopt a more vexed grimace. Something only Mr. Todd would normally wear. "Don't you _dare_ tell me I need to lighten up, Mr. T. I'd say it was ruddy hard to lighten up when you kept at scaring the daylights outta me."

"And didn't you notice?" Sweeney chimed in, sounding as though he weren't listening to a word Toby was saying. "That there was absolutely _no _daylight on Fleet Street? If you had any, there wasn't much to scare away in the first place."

"Huzzah!" Toby exclaimed, happy with himself when his unexpected outburst made the barber recoil and finally let go of him. "You've learnt to control the weather. You're a God."

"Oh, bloody hell," Sweeney grumbled, reaching up to touch his forehead as he felt the tiny beginnings of a mild migraine coming on. "Quit coming up with ideas. They'll stick."

"Mum told me often, actually," Toby explained. "that you make the clouds gray and the sky rumble with thunder. Is that true?"

"If it is, I've accomplished way more in life than I ever thought," Mr. Todd replied, his eyes glazing over with a sudden bitterness that startled Toby. "No matter. I could never control the sun, if I ever had any control over the clouds."

Toby smirked to himself; Not even Mrs. Lovett could force the barber to parttake in such ridiculous conversations without complaint. He must've had a special ability too.

"Mr. Todd?"

"What is it now?"

"M'proud of you."

Sweeney blinked the very eyes that eventually dragged downward to meet Toby's, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"No specific reason," Toby added hastily, for some reason feeling like he just dodged some non existent bullet when he said that. "M'just proud of you, is all."

Somehow, Sweeney felt he understood. Everything about what the boy was saying to him. He nodded it off, feeling he was saved from replying when Toby stopped, more alert than he was for once. The boy was staring at something up ahead, across the way.

"I," Toby smiled sheepishly, trying his definite hardest to forget that haunting shade of blonde hair that looked so much like Luke's; The young man up ahead - though his back was turned - had the same exact type and color. "think I was seein' things."

Sweeney himself had done a double take at first when he saw the blonde hair that resembled Luke's so very much. But then, his eyes averted away when they settled on the young woman standing next to him. Her yellow hair was tumbled down her back with such care, and the barber looked away, scowling. "We can... walk around them if you like."

They _were _standing right smack in the middle of the damn walkway.

"No," Toby insisted immediately. "I'll be fine, Mr. Todd. Let's go. Jus' a moment of second guessing myself was all it was."

Not saying anything, Mr. Todd simply nodded and forced himself forward again.

As they approached, they picked up pieces of the intent conversation that the young man and woman were having with the older man that stood in front of them (and of whom Sweeney only realized after passing the group up by a few inches or so).

"Barker?" the older man murmured in what sounded like disbelief, making Sweeney stop. "As in B-A-R-K-E-R?" He listed off the letters perfectly.

"Well, yes, but," the woman was staring at him. "that must be a coincidence."

_Right, _thought Sweeney. _A coincidence... Of course..._

Toby had walked up ahead, but upon noticing the barber stopped, he turned right back around again. "Mr. Todd?"

"Oh," The older man took one look at Sweeney and stepped aside. "My apologies, sir."

Sweeney was looking at him now. At his face. Not with anger, but with curiosity and ever mild suspicion, if there even _was _such an emotion.

"Do I... know you from somewhere?"

"Oh my God!" the young woman exclaimed, stumbling backwards and nearly knocking the man beside her over.

Sweeney looked up, alarmed to find that the woman was looking at him with mouth agape, and he suddenly realized that her face was just as familiar. The young, blonde-haired man beside her was a mystery, however.

"M-Mr. Todd?" she stammered.

Sweeney didn't need to wonder anymore. This was Johanna. He had found her.

* * *

><p>Of course, the train had no delay for the boy who was planning a horrific end for the barber and the boy.<p>

Luke was the first to hop off onto the train station in Plymouth.

He _needed_ to find Patrick. He needed to. He wasn't willing to let some wit from the very man who got away with so many murders get let off so easily, and Luke refused to have him believe he won this fight.

Slithering through the large crowd of people, the teenager left the train station and began following the flow of the parade of people who were all walking in one direction, until the sighting of a distant marketplace came into view, and further beyond there, a park amongst many buildings.

It would take a while, but he'd find Patrick.

He _needed_ to, after all.

* * *

><p>Really, the meeting between Sweeney Todd and his daughter, Johanna, was not as monumental of a moment as one might've thought it'd be. But that was probably only because no one besides him knew that they were related yet, because he - sure as hell - didn't tell her.<p>

So, in silence, Patrick and Mr. Barker escorted Johanna back home, and Sweeney and Toby tagged along behind them.

Really, Johanna didn't mind. She needed to speak with the barber urgently about the state of Antony, if he was willing to listen.

Upon arrival, Patrick flashed Johanna a parting grin. The only thing he didn't see coming was the hug she gave him in turn, which he reluctantly returned before walking down the street.

"Thank you, Mr. Barker," Johanna smiled at the old man with the hat, who was irritably adjusting it as she spoke to him. "For understanding, I mean."

"No fuss, Johanna," he replied, finally focusing his eyes on her. "It's odd, really; My granddaughter's name was Johanna, but she..."

"She what?" Sweeney chimed in, shoving past him to stand with his back to Johanna's door. He grabbed Toby's shirt sleeve and pulled him up beside him.

"She was kidnapped. Never seen again." Mr. Barker squinted at Mr. Todd, suspicious.

The barber met his glare levelly. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"You mentioned business you needed to attend with this man?" Mr. Barker asked, sounding as though he didn't believe a word of it as he motioned to Sweeney. "You said you know him?"

Johanna smiled at him. "I know more people than you think, Mr. Barker."

Sweeney felt his lips twitch slightly at her words, briefly banishing the contempt he held for this man who obviously felt the need to be protective of his daughter.

If not for Judge Turpin, no one would have _ever _felt the need to separate him from _his _little lamb.

Mr. Barker still looked reluctant to leave the girl he had grown a bit of a fondness for in the company of a suspicious looking, black-and-white haired man and a strange young boy.

This was all Mr. Todd needed to see. Spontaneously, he barred Johanna and - dare he really do it - Toby behind his back with both arms, seething, and eliciting gasps from each of them. "I swear on the few things I hold dear, sir. I would _never _think of harming this girl."

Johanna recongnized his firm touch immediately. She found herself shying away from it, until taking a look down at the much younger Toby and realizing that the boy was smirking and shaking his head, looking as though he'd been through this routine on many occasions. Forcing herself to relax, she turned away to unlock the door to her new residence. When the door was opened, she tapped on Toby's shoulder and motioned for him to come in.

In all honesty, Toby was hoping to stand by Sweeney's side for the main reason of sensing a brawl about to break out between him and the older man, but it seemed just that was the exact reason why Johanna wanted to edge away. Releasing a sigh, he followed Johanna anyway, knowing it'd be for the best to stay out of the way of the fuming adults. Sweeney backed into the house after them, but Mr. Barker was still staring at him. Before he could start showing signs of unnervousness, he spoke again.

"_Do_ I know you from somewhere? You're familiar, but your demeanor certainly isn't."

Mr. Barker snorted. "I don't believe you do." Dismissively, he flipped around and walked away from the house, across the street and down the opposite walkway.

Mr. Todd watched him with a frown. Then he backed all the way into the house and closed the door behind him.

Without any candles lit, the room was way darker than it might've been earlier that day. He had to find the walls with his arms outstretched, and by the time he reached an open threshold, he saw Johanna lighting the wick of a candle holder hung up on the wall with a match in the room he was about to enter.

Uneasiness shifted in Sweeney's stomach. "Be careful with that."

Johanna apparently hadn't even realized he was there until he spoke. She looked up, blinking her eyes at him. "Why, Mr. Todd?"

"You could burn yourself," he replied, taking a seat on a chair at the center table beside Toby. As he looked around, he concluded that this room was the kitchen, judging from the stove against the opposite wall.

Johanna didn't know how to reply to that. She merely blew the fire still licking away on the match out and sat down across from Sweeney and Toby, just then realizing how odd of a pair they were. "So... Mr. Sweeney Todd, is it?"

"Yes."

"And," Johanna looked at Toby. "you are...?"

"Tobias Ragg, ma'am," he supplied, grinning. "Call me Toby."

Sweeney fought the urge to elbow him; He never did know what the lad's last name was. Funny that he'd come out and say it now so casually.

"Right," Johanna leaned back in her chair, bemused. "If you don't mind me asking, who are the two of you to one another? Antony never told me about you having any children, Mr. Todd."

Rather than answering, Sweeney started to wonder where Anthony _was_. Why wasn't Johanna with him when she was standing out in the street? Why was she with that other boy...?

Toby, on the other hand, would've answered... had he known how to. The closest phrase he could muster up that would shortly describe him and Mr. Todd was "train buddies", but for some reason, he had a feeling that would sound ridiculous and encourage Mr. Todd to give him hell later on. For that, he didn't speak at all. He, too, just thought.

Johanna recoiled a little, starting to think that the question might've been bordering on some touchy subject that they didn't feel like discussing. In this case, she knew better than to linger on it. "Well, I'm sure you received my letter?"

Sweeney was snapped out of his thoughts at that. "You sent a letter?" It probably wasn't the most polite thing to say, but he didn't remember getting anything from her mailed to their address.

Johanna tilted her head to the side. "Yes, I did. Telling you that Anthony was attacked by someone... or rather, a _group _of someones."

It must've either gotten lost in the other mail, or arrived after they left Fleet Street.

Slowly, Mr. Todd shook his head. "No. I don't remember reading anything like that. Is that why he isn't with us?"

Johanna sighed and glanced down at her lap, her shoulders slumped. "Yes. That is also why you saw me with those two men on the side of the road. Mr. Barker, and Patrick Snayote."

"Who are they?" Toby asked, bewildered.

Johanna smiled suddenly, startling them. "Mr. Barker helped me get Anthony to the hospital after he got hurt. We met Patrick later. The two of them don't seem to get on very well... but Patrick has become quite dear to me. He is very nice."

"An innocent acquaintanceship, is it?" Sweeney rose an eyebrow at her; He wasn't all that fond of Anthony, but if Johanna was being unfaithful to him, he knew there'd be some point in time where he'd feel the need to scold her.

_It's what fathers do, after all, _he thought, a little unsure all the same. _I... think._

He was never unfaithful with Lucy. Never. Nor was he ever with any other woman he courted, which was few. Lucy was the only woman he ever had a serious relationship with, and he definitely didn't meet her at Anthony's age.

"Yes," Johanna rose a brow in turn, looking a little confused. "It is. Why do you ask?"

Toby looked at the man beside him, startled by the wave of tension that seemed to have broken out between the two of them. Using good instincts first, he backed out of his chair and stood up, stretching nonchalantly. "Johanna?"

Johanna looked up at him, unable to hide her gruff tone this time around. "What?"

"Are we, eh, stayin' here for the night?"

"Oh," she muttered, quickly finding her feet and practically jumping from her seat as well, brushing off the exchange between her and the barber that might've resulted in a fight had she not forgotten about it fast.

Sweeney remained seated, but he didn't need to reach over far to grab Toby's wrist. "Don't request and automatically expect such things, Toby."

"N-no, wait," Johanna held out a hand, her mouth hanging agape for a few seconds with no words forming. "You... haven't got anywhere to go?"

"Not that I'd say," Mr. Todd answered. "But we don't expect you to-"

"You may start expecting more out of me," Johanna's hands found her hips, and Sweeney was taking short time out to wonder if this was something she picked up from Mrs. Lovett some while ago, when she was just a baby. "Antony says I can trust you. I'll try my hardest to believe him, but for now, all I've got proof of is your unpleasant vehement towards others."

Her firm tone struck him hard, leaving him stung and a little strenuous, akin to the small times that Eleanor lost patience with him from time to time. With clenched fists, he was about to go into one of his loud rants, but Johanna cut him off.

"_Yes_. You may sleep in this home. I will sleep on the mattress that Antony and I have been sleeping on over the past several days. The two of you may sleep on the sofa. I pray there's no problem with that?"

Looking away, Sweeney nodded bitterly. Toby smiled encouragingly at Johanna and mouthed the words "thank you", to which he got a small smile in response to.

* * *

><p>"Who is she to <em>you<em>, Mr. Todd?"

Sweeney sighed; In what way could Toby possibly think Johanna was related to him? Niece? Under-aged cousin?

"I should start asking myself the more basic questions, lad," he responded, quiet in the pitch black, dead silent room that was Johanna's living room. "Do I really wish to disclose that information to you?"

"I don't see why you feel you can't, sir," Toby murmured, equally quiet as he sat atop Johanna's relatively new sofa, lounging there. "Does she know?"

It took a while for Sweeney to respond. Then he hung his head, closing his dark orbs, forcing them away from meeting Toby's in the impossible gloom. "No."

"Why not?"

Sweeney felt a pang of anger and sadness in his chest. "Be-because... I never got the chance to tell her."

"That you're 'er...?"

"Father," Sweeney replied, toning his voice down ever more. "I'm her father. I would never think of hurting her."

It took Toby a moment or so to register this new information. Then he nodded. "Why does she not know?"

"'Cause..." Sweeney's voice grew dark with hatred, and Toby knew he'd be spitting truculent curses by now if he hadn't already promised to be quiet so Johanna would be able to get some sleep. "Lucy and I were taken away from her too fast."

A frown twisted Toby's lips. "What 'appened?"

"It's not worth telling again."

"I won't tell anyone."

Mr. Todd sadly peered through the blackness of the room to where he knew Toby was sitting, inches beside him. He blindly reached out and rested his hand on the boy's head, shaking his own all the while. Soon, his hand started moving in a rhythmic motion that he could only decipher as a caress. He was surprised that Toby didn't say anything, or ask him what he was doing. All he _was _doing was stroking the boy's hair, and this action would've been questioned greatly back in London, a month prior to recent events.

As seconds passed, Sweeney concluded that Toby fell asleep. Hardly caring anymore, he unconsciously pulled the young lad closer to himself. Resting his arm over Toby's much smaller shoulder, he released a breath and pressed his head against the back of the sofa, closing his eyes.

* * *

><p>Johanna's arms around him was a feeling Patrick simply could not get out of his mind. He thought walking it off would do fine, but as he turned a corner, the feeling still remained warm and prominent. It was a memory he could feel physically and mentally, but he tried to convince himself that that was just because it happened a few minutes before.<p>

All the same, he couldn't get Johanna Barker out of his head. After a while, he stopped trying.

"Oi!" exclaimed a voice from up ahead. "Patrick!"

He looked up, shocked, to find the familiar face of Cory glaring at him, his dirty blonde hair gleaming in the streetlamp light.

"We've been lookin' everywhere for ya, Pat!"

"Sorry," Patrick muttered, walking across the walkway to reach his friend. "Cory, listen for just a-"

"We have plans to make, don't we?" Cory interrupted, a crooked grin reaching his lips.

"P-plans?"

"For the feminine boy. Right?"

"Right... About that, Cory..."

"What?" Cory looked startled. "Don't tell me you've given up on winnin' the heart of the highly attractive woman?"

Angry heat rose in Patrick's chest. "Her name is Johanna. Johanna Barker."

Cory rose an eyebrow. "And...?"

"_And _I don't wish to drive between her and her husband-to-be. I'm not _that_ cold." He shoved past Cory, but the fairily younger boy only caught up and started trotting at his side.

"That's jus' it, Pat! You _are _that cold!" He sounded positively gleeful about this.

"_Shut_ up," Patrick turned on him, his eyes like chips of ice, and Cory backed off. "They're no longer targets - whatever which way it's intended - any longer. End of discussion, Cory." With that, he stormed away, leaving his closest friend behind in the dimly illuminated street.

* * *

><p><strong>Yes! We're getting somewhere now! I promise things will be getting interesting. And by interesting, I mean suspenseful. The "life threatening" part that was mentioned in the summary. :D<strong>

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Many clues were dropped every which way, so I'm just curious as to if anyone took notice of them. xD**

**Review, if you will! :)**


	18. A Discussion Left Unfinished

**Welcome back, guys. ;)**

* * *

><p>Mr. Todd was awoken to the feeling of a hand on both his shoulder, and the crook of his arm. He was being shook. Without a single sound escaping his lips, he opened his eyes to see morning light leaking in from the window.<p>

Johanna's yellow hair shined gold in the... Wait a second... _Johanna?_

His heart starting in his chest, he jumped backwards. It was unknown to him that he had practically squished Toby in the process of this, until he heard a groan from behind his back.

Johanna stood by the window, and upon hearing this, she turned to face Sweeney. "What's...?"

"Lad," The barber in question was trying to revive a winded Toby. "Are you alright?"

Toby hid his smirk well. "I... think I'm dying."

"Are you?" Any concern Sweeney had before for the situation was evidently lost. Dry humor replaced it. "Why did I even bother asking then?"

Toby sat up straight, grinning. "'Cause you'd never be able to live with yourself if you didn't."

Mr. Todd smiled lightly and ruffled the boy's hair. He looked up at Johanna, who was still peering at them with now a delicate smile of her own, turning on the spot as the hem of her nightgown swished around her ankles. When his humored eyes reached her's, she averted her gaze to continue staring out through the bright window that lit up the practically barren room.

In an instant, her schedule for the day was made out.

"I'm going to the hospital."

"Why?" Sweeney - now ignoring Toby - bolted to his feet. "Are you well?"

"I'm very well," Johanna responded, looking rather surprised at his immediate concern. "Do you not remember? Anthony's in. I need to go visit him. It is what I've been doing over the past few days."

Toby was still sitting, his fingers drumming the sofa cushion. "Why can't we go with you?"

Johanna's eyebrows rose thoughtfully as she crossed her arms over her chest. "You can, if you'd like." She looked up at Sweeney, her reluctant, twitching smile returning to her palid face. "Mr. Todd?"

Slowly, Sweeney nodded, and Toby jumped up from his seat with a smile.

With that, Johanna walked out of the room, talking over her shoulder as she went. "I'll only be a couple of moments. I need to change."

The barber staggered over to the window, staring after his daughter with a look akin to nothing short of sadness. It was enough to make Toby follow him, his usually challenging eyes now soft with sympathy.

"Mum would advise you to tell 'er in your own time," he stated, breaking the older man from his thoughts.

Sweeney idly glanced out the window, away from the boy. "Mrs. Lovett would say somethin' like that, wouldn't she?" It wasn't much of a question. Just a remark.

"Did she know Johanna at all?" Toby asked, curious.

"Yes," Mr. Todd replied, bitter. "I suppose you could say we were something of a sort of family." He didn't sound happy about this in the least.

"Oh." Toby leaned against the window pane, thinking. It surprised him to realize how involved their lives were; When Mrs. Lovett took him in, he only knew Mr. Todd as the bad tempered barber upstairs. Maybe he was, no matter the way you look at it. But regardless, the baker became like a mother to him. At one time, she was also a form of a mother to Johanna, whom Mr. Todd fathered for real at one point.

Toby never thought his life could intertwine with someone else's quite like that before, and he found it just the slightest bit miserable that it took so long for him to find out.

Asking his adoptive Mum more questions was the one thing he wished he could've done. Preferably about her history with Sweeney, and his family.

When Johanna came walking back in, she was in one of her older dresses. One of which she'd wear when she perched by her window day after day, trapped in Turpin's manor. She was fixing her yellow hair as she approached, her head dipped toward the floor as she did so. It was unknown to her how close she came seconds before she bumped right into the barber in front of her, who, in turn, looked startled at her abrupt appearance; He had focused for too long and hard outside the window, whilst Toby was watching the entire ordeal between them both with a highly amused look on his face.

She gasped, instinctively jumping back and clutching the boy in question's arm for support. With a brash grin, he shook her off of him, knowing all too well that there was no current threat in the household that she needed to be afraid of.

Instead of apologizing as her common sense was inwardly urging her to do, Johanna straightened up where she stood and finished fixing her hair the way she liked. She looked back up at the two, offering a polite smile to break the tension. "How would you say I look?"

"Like somethin' my friends in the workhouse would call a '_looker_'," Toby responded smoothly, still grinning.

Despite the fact that Johanna chuckled at the young lad's humor, Sweeney wrinkled his nose and shot out a hand, shoving the eleven-year-old wise guy back by the shoulder. He then turned to face his daughter, eyeing her.

"I..." Johanna suddenly didn't feel very comfortable under his gaze. "I-I don't suppose you know what it is about me that Antony finds so..."

"Beautiful?" Mr. Todd prompted, arching a brow.

"Yes."

Squinting at her familiar face now, Sweeney lifted a single hand to smooth out the hair elegantly resting over her shoulder, ignoring her discomforted flinch in response.

"He doesn't deserve you."

* * *

><p>Luke ran from alleyway entrance to alleyway entrance, peering in through the dim, narrow path that made it abnormally hard to decipher where the end of it was. When what he wanted to see finally caught his eye, he bounded in, no trace of hesitance to his gait.<p>

"M'tellin' you," came Cory's confused voice. "'E just... _stormed_ away."

"Who?" Luke chimed in, recongnizing his cousin's friend in a heartbeat.

Cory and the two other boys he was speaking to stood from the crates they were lounging upon against the brick wall, their fists clenched. When Cory saw who it was, he beamed.

"Luke! Why didn't you tell us y'were coming?"

"Patrick hasn't by now?" Luke muttered, walking up to shove the youngest boy away from the crate to steal his seat, no regret in his eyes afterwards.

"Pat's been rapped up in a ruddy new world of 'is own," Cory grumbled.

"How so?"

"Smitten with a bloody girl, m'sure."

"Shit," Luke slapped his forehead. "This will do no good."

"Why've you come, Luke?" Cory tilted his head. "Is something the matter?"

"A madman is on the loose," Luke replied, leaning in to speak nose-to-nose with the younger boy. "After me, no doubt. Patrick needs to snap outta it, if 'e's too far gone already."

"I'll try to get through to 'im, Luke," Cory promised, bitter, not looking at all very shocked by the older boy's news.

"I'm choosing to go with, Cory," Luke interjected. "No one can get through to him better than I. Right?"

"Right," Cory's voice faltered, glancing down at his lap awkwardly.

Luke sneered at him. "And what's the matter with _you_, Cory?"

"Nothing." Cory glared up at him, anger and worry two things apparent in his eyes.

* * *

><p>"M-Mr... Todd? Mr. Todd!"<p>

Toby jumped aside as a limping Anthony Hope rushed across the room to gawk in front of the barber. The sailor boy was more smartly dressed now; Obviously well enough to walk around the room. Clearly well enough to rap Sweeney up in a very unmasculine hug that even made Johanna cringe.

Grimacing, the Demon Barber broke free of Mr. Hope's grip - which was, really, impressively strong - and crossly sized up his son-in-law-to-be as he grudgingly straightened his vest; a recent habit of his.

Not noticing Mr. Todd's angry eyes on him, Anthony moved behind him to kiss Johanna, to which any whom knew Sweeney Todd well enough would be grateful to see his back was turned.

"This place looks boring," Toby remarked, having already gone from one side of Antony's bed to the other, twice.

"I'd encourage you never to injure yourself, then," Sweeney said plainly, stalking over to the window to look outside.

"It isn't all that bad," Anthony crossed the room and sat down on the mattress. "They told me I could walk about to my leasure. I even left the room, last night."

Johanna looked startled at this notion. "Why?"

"I saw a shadow outside," he shuddered. "Thought someone was breaking in."

Sweeney snorted, both in humor and scorning.

Johanna briefly looked over her shoulder at the man, a faint glare present. "It could happen, Mr. Todd." She looked back to Anthony, concerned. "Patrick told me there's plenty of dangers in Plymouth. I'll never believe it's anything compared to London."

"Fleet Street, preferably?" Sweeney grunted.

"I-I suppose..."

"Patrick?" Anthony broke in, inquiring. "Who is Patrick?"

"Oh," Johanna sighed, massaging her forehead with a hand. "An acquaintance of mine, s'all. Been keeping me company over the past few days, bless him."

"You've never spoken of him," Anthony stated, nonplussed.

"There was no need to," she soothed, brushing his long hair away from his palid face.

An awkward silence fell over the room, only broken by a loud thud which was caused from Toby knocking a book off the side table on accident.

"Come away from the bed," Sweeney grumbled, yanking the lad back by the shirt sleeve.

"Did they tell you when you'll be fit to leave, Antony?" Johanna asked softly, both her delicate hands on his left shoulder as she stood in front of his stooped figure.

"I will ask," Anthony replied, not quite looking at her this time around, but rather at the wall that the bed was leaned against, his eyes distant.

Sweeney eyed him; Was it just him, or was Anthony acting a touch out of character in comparison to moments before?

Though it practically _mauled_ him on the inside, he stepped up beside Johanna, disgarding Toby behind him, to gently say, "May we have a word with him?"

Johanna blinked, then nodded, her brows pulled together. Mr. Todd could see the present suspicion in her eyes. Toby sheepishly shrugged in the barber's direction and grabbed Johanna's right hand, walking out of the room with her.

"Why are you not looking at that girl when she speaks to you?" Sweeney demanded scathingly, rounding on Anthony.

Honestly, what was he to expect from a nineteen-year-old sailor boy? Disinterest in a girl days after showing any interest in her in the first place?

Lamely, Anthony glanced up at Mr. Todd, not looking as fazed as usual by the barber's outburst seconds after Johanna and Toby walked out of earshot. "She never spoke of..."

"Patrick?" Sweeney prompted, brash.

"Yes."

"Why should she?"

With a pained grunt, Anthony stood up from the bed, standing a few inches taller than the barber. "We're to be _married_, Mr. Todd."

"Are you suggesting she's frivoling about with others behind your back?"

"I am saying no such thing!" Anthony exclaimed, sounding a little more like himself now as his voice heightened in pitch, his face exasperated. He leaned against the wall behind him with a sigh. "I am merely trying to figure why she can't tell _me_, is all, when everyone else seems to know very well."

Sweeney had no immediate reply to that. He shifted back, realizing just how close he had gotten in the process of yelling at the young man. This was all very different to hear Anthony speak in such a descriptive way that expressed so much dislike for something. Especially something that Johanna was doing.

"She would never," he murmured softly.

"What?" Anthony looked to him again.

"She would never want to be with anyone else, but you," Sweeney said more clearly, his words slow. Surprisingly, it didn't irk him to say it as much as he thought it would.

Anthony weakly smiled at him. He sat back down on the spot, staring down at his feet. "Something else confuses me more than that, Mr. Todd."

"And what is that?"

"Why you seem to care so much for us," Antony replied, curiously thoughtful now.

_I don't._ Sweeney bit back that hard reply. He allowed an audible breath as he patted the sailor on the shoulder. "You saved my life, Antony."

"Maybe I... wasn't clear enough." Anthony's head lifted a bit, still not looking directly at the barber. "You speak of Johanna as though you're responsible for what she does. Nearly how you seem to treat Toby."

Sweeney released a huff, bitter. "The way I treat Toby is nothing like the way I treat Johanna."

"Maybe not." Anthony finally looked up to meet his eyes now, his own narrowed a little. "But..."

Mr. Todd took advantage of the pause. "Has she ever spoken of her parents to you, Antony?"

Anthony blinked. "She... mentioned how she never met them."

"Ah." Sweeney averted his dark orbs to the window, sternly gazing at the cobblestone street beyond it. Before he could say anything else, Toby stuck his head into the room.

"Mr. Todd? What's keeping you?"

"Nothing."

Sweeney and Anthony exchanged a look.

They'd discuss it soon. Not right then and there, but soon.

Really soon.

* * *

><p><strong>When I started this chapter, I didn't expect as much mild SweeneyAnthony bonding as I actually put in. o.o Made me realize that they could've actually had a pretty valuable conversation with one another in the movie if they'd've just sat down and shot the shit. xD**

**I'd like to tell you to expect the next chapter sooner, but at this rate, I'm just not sure how soon. :/ The end of the year is my deadline. I'm definitely trying to end it before then. This story isn't going to be as long as DI. Just know that. Lol.**

**Review, if you will!**


	19. The Right Consoler

"Pat?"

Luke shoved Cory behind him; They couldn't both fit through the doorway.

In a shack at the end of the road, his cousin sat inside, sitting on a turned over crate and staring out the opened window in the back. It took him a moment to realize who it was. When he did, he turned around to a full, eyes wide.

"Luke?"

"I was starting to think you didn't get my letter, old friend," Luke softly said, walking in, eyeing the older boy with a certain dislike.

Luke sighed, picking up the piece of parchment from an inner coat pocket. "How could I lose sight of your arrival? It always stirs... misfortune, and anger."

"Well, well." Luke crossed his arms and strutted over to the window, smirking. "You'd best take that back, Pat."

Instead of playing along, Patrick propped his elbow up on the sill, his eyes distant; Something else was clearly on his mind.

"Pat?"

No reply.

Luke didn't expect Cory's presence to snap so close from behind, which was why he jumped when the loud yell of, _"Pat!"_ sounded beside him.

"What do you two want?" Patrick grumbled, his hand sliding from his face to his dusty, blonde hair.

"I don't know, cousin," Luke mimicked his miffed tone. "Say, a few days of your time?"

"And no more?" Patrick scooted around on the crate to face the two other boys.

"No more than that, Pat," Luke said with another grim smile. He looked out the window again, plotting in his mind. "Now, will you aid me?"

Patrick stood up from where he sat. "Fine. I will help. The only way to repay me is by leaving me be in the end, worse off or not."

Luke chuckled. "Oh! You don't understand, Pat; If we fail, I will _never_ leave you alone."

"Nice. I'm flattered."

Cory was gritting his teeth from in between them now, as though worried something a little more intense would break out in a matter of seconds.

On the contrary, Patrick pointed to the door. "I decide when we start."

Luke opened his mouth to object, but his older cousin cut him off. "Tomorrow sounds just right."

Cory grinned nervously and barred Luke back in practically the same way he came across the room, but the sixteen-year-old slapped him away, and a little harder than he intended at that. Patrick was up in an instant, pushing Cory aside and grabbing Luke close by the throat, eliciting a squeak from him.

"Keep your hands off him."

"I can't promise anything," Luke managed to croak.

"If you can't, then I'm no different."

"Oi, wait," Luke grunted when Patrick pushed him away with great force, his hand flying to hold his neck as quickly as he could. "I won't touch your friend anymore."

Patrick narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm not looking forward to tomorrow."

"Nor am I," Luke stated, a ghost of his grim smile seeming to return to his lips. "It's got to be done, though. That's that."

* * *

><p>"Oh, just great."<p>

"What?"

Sweeney ducked back into the shelter of the hospital, pressing his back against the wall and grabbing Toby's forearm in a tight grip. He reached out and gripped Johanna's hand as well, making her freeze in place.

"Don't even."

"Why not?"

"Can you not hear the rain?"

Johanna frowned and, discomforted, wriggled free of Mr. Todd's hand around her own, not noticing the somewhat dejected look on his face in result.

It wasn't his usual glower. It was a look of sheer disappointment and dismay.

"I'll walk back in the rain."

"Will you?" Sweeney arched a brow, and a curious smile fell upon Toby's face.

"Will _you_?" Johanna blinked at him. She spoke before he could reply, however. "I've watched storms from my window at Turpin's. To walk through one would surely be something that only I would relish in."

"So..." Toby pointedly shook his arm to grab the sullen barber's attention - Sweeney was still holding onto him without realizing - and get him to let go. "I suppose we'll be meetin' you there?"

"Of course not," Mr. Todd muttered, pushing away from the wall. He ignored the strange stares that people coming and going were giving the three of them; They _were_, after all, an odd bunch, and he could only imagine the stares they'd get if Anthony was also in their presence.

"Are we leaving, then?"

Sweeney couldn't muster a glare that was cold enough. Not for his daughter. He merely shifted around her, impressed when she didn't turn on the spot to face him like she normally would. Now inclined to, he placed his hands on both her shoulders, nudging her for the door. "I think that walking through buckets of pouring water is a fine idea."

Toby poorly tried his hand in hiding a grin. "No, you don't."

"Am I not aloud to be sarcastic, lad?"

Johanna turned at this sentence, peering up at him with faint annoyance. "If you think it's a bad idea, I'll go alone."

"Don't." Sweeney shook his head; He hadn't realized just how uncensored he had become since spending all of the free time he had with Toby. "Will you... know the way back?"

"It ain't rainin' _that_ hard," Toby said, stepping behind Johanna's turned back to look outside again. "I knew it wasn't that cloudy when we left. Hardly any clouds at all, in fact."

Sweeney stiffly nodded his head. When Johanna repeated this action herself, she turned away, and the barber allowed a smirk to trace his lips as he strutted past Toby. "I thought you never went to school."

Toby snorted. "I know where rain comes from. That ain't something you learn in school."

"I suppose."

As the three of them stepped outside - Johanna first - they were pelted with raindrops. Everyone on the cobblestone street with them was stepping under the rims of shop roofs or newspapers.

"I know the way back from here," Johanna said.

"So do I," Sweeney interjected, unable to help keep the wary tone from his voice. "So why don't you follow my lead instead?"

"I've been here longer, haven't I?"

Really, it was funny; When Sweeney pictured his daughter, he didn't picture her as one to hold an argument for very long. It seemed he got everything but one thing in particular right about her.

"I've gone from my home to the hospital and back by myself," Johanna added.

"That-That sounds fine," Toby muttered, his hair already slick from the rain. "Anything to get out of this." A fond smile found his lips as Johanna started walking her own way, and Mr. Todd had a look on his face that suggested he intended on going in a completely different direction.

"Your moment to shine'll come, Mr. T," Toby promised teasingly, and he reached up to pat the barber on the shoulder, but said barber caught it.

"She's nothing like her mother."

Toby hadn't exactly expected that to leave Sweeney's mouth so flatly, without much effort, let alone when he grabbed his wrist so abruptly.

"And... And what?" he stammered, startled.

"And... nothing." Sweeney let go of Toby, fruitlessly wiping off his wet forehead with the back of his pale hand. He started following in Johanna's path and Toby watched him, still, for the shortest of moments.

When he was living out a poor life in the workhouse, did he ever consider the possibility of being dragged into such a bizarre, melodramatic setting? And worse, care so damn much about it?

Toby stared at the backs of the fairily older girl and the barber he'd admittedly grown quite fond of saunter off into the drizzle, and he followed, breaking into a run to catch up.

* * *

><p>Mr. Barker peered out the window of the coach he resided in, regrettably alone. Since the death of his wife, all the time he spent doing anything was spent alone. Contact with his two children had long been broken off, and... contact with another child of his had been put to use such a while ago but soon became irrelevant in terms of usage.<p>

He lived in Plymouth by himself. Interesting things happened from time to time, though it was pretty rare when he himself was involved in them. It was sometimes why he felt inclined to involve himself in situations by force, whether it was helping a passerby with directions or spontaneously prompting a conversation out of a stranger. Mr. Barker believed he did these things to keep himself associated with the world, despite the knawing feeling in the back of his head that sneered at the idea, continuously performing the cruel deed of reminding him that he was slowly slipping away from it all. And to ever so subtly add that when he eventually _did_ slip away for good, no one in the world would be near enough to care, if immediate.

Absentmindedly, the old man pressed his forehead against the cold window that was streaked with raindrops, and what he saw outside alarmed him enough to reach over and open the door, gritting his teeth against the rain that was coming down harder than he thought previously. He called up to the man who held the reins of the horse that was trotting with a freaked trot to its gait, and he assumed that the large equine wasn't taking too much of a liking to the downpour either.

"Henry! Stop the coach!"

"Why, sir?" The young man known to Mr. Barker at the beginning of his carriage trip as Henry peered down at him, bemused. He appeared to be stifling any emotion about the rain, most expectantly appreciating when others deemed him a professional at the job.

"Just do it, son!" Mr. Barker sputtered through the droplets that hit his face. He then sunk back into his seat while keeping the door a small bit ajar, blinking the water out of his eyes as the coach veered off to the side of the road.

"We should've stayed," muttered a very unpleasantly familiar Mr. Todd, who was walking with the equally familiar small boy nearly clinging to his arm and an independent Johanna walking a little further ahead, looking around with her eyes squinted determinedly.

"Ms. Barker?" Mr. Barker opened the door, looking out at her and, soon, at the seething man and the younger boy who were a little closer in earshot.

"'Y'talkin' to us?" the young boy asked, looking straight at him.

Johanna heard the voices behind her and turned, a small look of dismay crossing her face when she saw Mr. Barker. "What are you doing here?"

Mr. Barker stared at her, and then the two others, for a few bated heartbeats. Then he reminded himself that they were all getting soaked by the rain, and he found his voice. "Get in."

The young boy didn't waste any time, and ignoring Mr. Todd's hand which instinctively shot out to grab him before he got too far, he bolted the short distance and slowed to a stop when he approached Mr. Barker, his dark hair slick against his head with rain. "Does that include us?"

"Toby," Mr. Todd grumbled, storming over to grab the boy's arm successfully and yank him back. "We don't need-" He stopped mid sentence when Johanna gingerly stepped around them, nodding her head meekly to Mr. Barker with quiet grace. Toby didn't need to see anymore after Mr. Barker nodded to him as well to get in.

That left Mr. Todd in the rain, glaring defiantly at Mr. Barker whom had a look of sly superiority tracing his wrinkled features.

"It'll be cramped, but it'll work," Mr. Barker stated curtly, noting the barber's automatic iciness at the sight of him. "I don't think you want to leave your two... acquaintances... alone with me."

Those mere words appeared to send Mr. Todd's blood boiling with rage that could surely warm him in the cold climate.  
>"I may just talk them to death," Mr. Barker carried on, just then realizing a newfound love for pushing the younger man's buttons for some reason he couldn't fathom right away.<p>

Mr. Todd grudgingly stepped up past the elder, a scowl on his pale face. "If it was only you and I alone, I'd gladly kick the driver to the curb and steer this coach into a lake."

"Ooh. Morbid, isn't it?"

* * *

><p>How the four of them fit inside the small space was a mystery to Sweeney. There was even space for him to sit with the three others - the three others who were actually <em>comfortable<em> with sitting together. No. He stood, but was slouched a bit. It wasn't that he outright refused to sit. It was rather unconscious resistance.

He went from wanting to remain inside until the rain passed to going because Johanna wanted to, which then led to him regretting this decision before again wanting to go back out for the sole purpose of getting away from Mr. Barker.

All in all, it had been a wild day, but it was only about to get wilder.

"Thank you," Johanna murmured politely as she took Mr. Barker's hand to step down to the wet cobblestone, off the small stairs of the coach.

Toby hopped out after her, and Sweeney tentatively followed, his eyes darting every which way for a possible sign of something risque about the place the coach halted. It was Anthony's and Johanna's house, however, and nothing was wrong, apart from Mr. Barker's presence near it.

The barber sauntered behind the three of them, not listening but eyeing the body language of his daughter and the older man. Johanna was speaking quietly to him, and he was slowly nodding at what she was saying to him, as though hesitantly agreeing to something she proposed.

"I... know we've been avoidin' folks, sir," Toby stated awkwardly, falling into step with Mr. Todd. "But this seems a lit'le over the top... even for you."

Sweeney glanced down at him, not ceasing in his walk. He had yet to piece together why, exactly, this peculiar old man got such a great deal on his nerves. The only feasible explanation he could conjure up (but never openly admit) was that Mr. Barker was acting as more of a father to Johanna than himself, while he and Johanna were off to a pretty rocky start, their bloodstained encounter back on Fleet Street included.

No doubt, Johanna still saw him as a raving lunatic. He didn't blame her, though. He couldn't. That _was_ what he was, wasn't it?

Toby nudged him suddenly, and Sweeney blinked out of his trance directed at the cobblestone ground beneath their feet. "Looks like we've got a visitor for a few hours."

Sweeney scowled; Johanna was letting that stranger in. _Ruddy perfect. _"No, Toby. We won't be staying here much longer. She's got a visitor. Not us."

* * *

><p>"So... what exactly are we doing?" Patrick asked, unable to help the meekness he felt from reaching his voice; He knew nothing of Luke's plans, and this fact alone worried him. This boy, though younger than himself, often made himself out to be the superior of the two of them. While this angered Patrick most of the time, it scared him the rest.<p>

"We need a coach," Luke replied without turning, craning his neck every which way as the three of them slunk across the street.

"What for?" Cory asked importantly, sounding excited for the mission at hand, if not determined.

"Oho. You'll see." Without looking at the face of his 'companion', Patrick could tell Luke was smirking widely. Insanely. "I think I know just the place to find one, too."

* * *

><p>"Since you're here, Mr. Barker, would you like to stay for dinner?" Johanna asked, ever polite. "You haven't got any place to be, do you?"<p>

Mr. Barker was preparing to decline. But the second question left him unsure, and finally, sure of the opposing decision. "No. I don't." He smiled warmly at Johanna. "Thank you for the offer. I think I'll take it."

Sweeney had to stifle a groan, but not on purpose. Toby squeezed his wrist, as though to remind him. Johanna, after all, would probably not take kindly to it. If anything, it'd startle Mr. Barker into wariness. Confusion.

Mr. Barker, however, seemed to notice the younger man's strange frustration without a mere groan to indicate it. The moment Mr. Todd broke away from Toby to stomp into the dark, unlit kitchen, Mr. Barker muttered a brief explanation to Johanna - who seemed to notice Sweeney's angsty exit herself - before following the man in, taking a swift look back at the two youngsters and then promptly shutting the door.

Sweeney flipped around at the gentle sound of a door closing, squinting. He was rendered silent when he saw who it was, too set on knowing he'd say something foolish if he were to say anything at all.

"I've... never experienced such blind hatred before," the old man said loftily. "I'd like to know why, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

Mr. Todd suppressed a snort, but the remains of a scoffing puff of air seeped through his nose, regardless. He didn't answer, however. He just couldn't.

"You've had nothing but a scowl on your face for as long as I've laid my eyes on you."

"Well, I do-

"Please," Mr. Barker interjected, sounding oddly.. desperate, given the circumstances. "Don't interrupt me, sir. I'd like to ask more, but to be fair, the only thing I ask of you for now is to question your whereabouts in this young woman's life. An explanation about that boy wouldn't hurt, either."

Sweeney managed a real snort this time, leaning against the counter and shaking his head. "You speak as though you've claimed custody over her."

"Has she anyone else to look after her? Besides that boy that she spoke so highly of?" Mr. Barker crossed his arms.

"Many, many people care about her," Mr. Todd murmured wistfully, his dark eyebrows pulling together as he frowned at the counter top. "Not all are alive."

"Her parents?"

"...Deceased."

"Who raised her?"

Sweeney mulled over this question for a few heartbeats, wondering just how to answer it properly. "Her parents raised her for a short while. Then, after they died, she was looked after by the landlady of whom took the family in in the first place."

"Had they known the landlady long?"

Sweeney cringed, though the action and the face he pulled was probably hidden in the darkness. "The father did. Much longer than he'd known Lu-" He broke off, his mouth snapping shut. A little more than a minute into the conversation and he'd already failed at keeping his problems to himself. Mr. Barker wasn't saying anything though, which again left an opening to perhaps cover up his mistake of slipping up.

"Why do you want to know all these minor details?"

"Because," Mr. Barker began, sounding greatly intent on the subject at hand. "I don't believe they're _minor_ details. I think they're more." He stepped a little closer.

Had he not made a sound, Sweeney still would've known he moved. Somehow.

"How do you _know_ about Johanna's parents, and their landlady?"

"I was an acquaintance of theirs." The lie so smoothly flowed from Mr. Todd's mouth, it shocked even him for a moment. Then he realized he needed to continue in order to sound convincing. "An avid visitor to the pie shop below the barber shop above where the parents resided with their daughter."

Before Mr. Barker could make a comment, the door to the kitchen slowly creaked open, and Johanna very meekly poked her head in. "S-Sorry." She grinned a sheepish grin as she bustled across the room in a rush and dropped a lit candle down where Sweeney was leaning. She then trotted out, smiling gently at Mr. Barker as she passed, closing the door on her way out to provide the two men the previous privacy they had before and obviously proving that she hadn't been listening in on what they were saying.

The room was brighter now. Bright enough for Mr. Barker to turn around and see the fond, half smile that Mr. Todd wore as he watched the place Johanna vanished from. "Mr. Todd?"

Sweeney blinked and faced the old man, an air of his familiar sternness returning. He didn't say anything, as though the young girl had never made an appearance at all.

"Suppressed affection," Mr. Barker said suddenly, his tone so blunt that Sweeney's attention was grabbed regardless of what he said. "I'm capable of spotting it wherever you put me."

Sweeney pushed up from where he leaned, giving him a look that could surely kill. "You don't understand what's happening here. I could bring back the lives of so many others who would."

"Her parents, perhaps?" Mr. Barker challenged. "You speak of nameless people. I've never gotten a name from you. Not one. How much _do_ you know?"

"More than you ever will!" Sweeney hissed. "You aren't her father! You never will be!" He wasn't thinking. He wasn't being tactful about what he said. 'Tactful' wasn't an option anymore. He was beyond that.

Mr. Barker, in time with the younger man, backed up until he was nearly touching the door, with Mr. Todd towering over him like a deranged animal who hasn't been fed for a month and jabbed repetitively with a stick that is too long for him to be able to reach the one who wielded it.

"You're the type of man who barges in on a family who doesn't need anymore problems than they've already got! _I_ can tell! Why do you suppose I speak of Antony with such scorn?" Putting aside the fact that he had never spoken of the sailor in Mr. Barker's presence, of course. "Right now, that irking young man is growing on me in comparison to you! At least _he_ has a grip on what's going on, whereas you try to act like you do when you _don't_." He paused for a few seconds to breathe and take in the petrified face of Mr. Barker, who was staring up at him with unemotional persistence, shockingly blank.

Sweeney recoiled from him, starting to feel the slightest bit lightheaded; That was the most he'd ever said out of anger in a very, very long time. Thinking about it simply made him feel worse, and he settled for leaning against the wall beside the door. More notably, right beside Mr. Barker, who hadn't moved from his spot yet.

Feeling the need to break the silence before he passed out, Sweeney spoke more softly, his inflection dark with quiet hatred that was most likely building up in preparation to explode again. "Toby would be half way down the street by now." He watched Mr. Barker's unshifting eyes, which gradually moved to meet his own. He met the man's gaze, unknown to him that it mirrored the color of his iris perfectly. "Would you like to know why Johanna requires my unwavering attention, now that I've finally found her again?"

Mr. Barker, after a moment of confused hesitation, nodded.

"Because she escaped my grasp one too many times, in more ways than one. Malicious intention. Loving intention. It doesn't matter to me. Every time she's within my reach, she gets snatched away." He sighed against the wall, his chest wallowing in agony that he'd grown quite used to. "I... don't ask for precise happiness, but when I think about it, having her near would make me pretty bloody happy." He spoke in a carefully suppressed tone, as though his voice would break if he handled it too loosely. "Do you... know the father I spoke of?"

Mr. Barker had long turned his head to face the barber, his eyes lowered to the floor. Sweeney didn't wait for an answer though.

"I'm.. I'm him, sir."

If he had stopped talking there, he would've saved his dignity from crashing hard around him. He did quite the opposite, however.

"I can't even begin to tell you how much... Just... Johanna and Lucy both. Th-The relation I have with Johanna's been too unstable for repair." He tightly shut his eyes, feeling a familiar sting behind them as he leaned back first against the wall. "I'd change so much. Everything. What happened would never h-_have_ happened had I known. And... my... my _own daughter_ would never give me a look like I was loony if I tried to tell her how much I loved her."

Mr. Barker was staring at him, wordless. He let him speak. He let him get out all the stuff that had obviously been waiting for the right opportunity to escape tearfully to the correct person. His own mind, however, was swimming with one possibility and one possibility alone.

Sweeney covered his eyes with one hand, only moving it a slight when the distinct murmur of "Ben?" brought him out of his flurry of bad memories.

"What?" he whispered, in no mood to be answering to a different topic.

"Don't answer, boy." Mr. Barker slid his arm around Sweeney's upper back in an awkward attempt to pull him closer.

"I don't-I don't have to-"

"Shhh."

Mr. Todd swallowed back the lump in his throat and shakily breathed against the older man's shoulder, until he could no longer resist the urge to rest his head down on said surface and focus his eyes on the wood of the door, his vision blurry with tears.

"Don't worry. I'm here."

* * *

><p><strong>Well, eh... This turned out <em>way<em> vaguer than I planned for it to.**

**It seems Sweeney's emotions latched onto the right person to spill to. *strokes his arm sadly* The beginning of the next chapter should definitely make clear of what happened at the end there, if it isn't clear enough already.  
><strong>

**Now, I promised I'd finish this story, and I will. It may not be before the year ends, but a little over the beginning of next year will be fine... So long as the world doesn't end, that is. **

**I hope you enjoyed! Here's to hoping I finish the next one quicker! **

**Really, it should. I'm excited to write the next few events that go down. Should be fun. ^^  
><strong>


	20. Spilled Beans

The feeling of Mr. Barker's hand on Sweeney's shoulder never left. Even while he was retching on the street, just off the curb. His throat was on fire and he was sweating.

He knew Toby and Johanna were watching from the doorway of the house, still on alarm by the way the barber had stormed past the two of them when they offered their greetings to him in passing, only to get no response. He could imagine Toby wondering what the big problem could be this time around, and he could picture Johanna only being far more bewildered than before, and worst of all, thinking he was even crazier than she'd thought.

"What happened to you?" Mr. Barker quietly asked, despite knowing the answer wouldn't come without a scoff or groan.

Sweeney couldn't do either, honestly. He had nowhere to lean, and he certainly wasn't going to stoop down to where he had been before and lean on the man standing beside him, so dutifully refraining from taking his old, wrinkled hand away from his shoulder.

He sat down on the curb as a last resort, his palid face in his hands. He felt hollow and confused.

"We never got a letter from Eleanor, or your Lucy," Mr. Barker stated. "Please don't be angry with us. Your mother and I were so-"

"Worried," Mr. Todd finished his sentence, one of his hands sliding up from his face to brush his jet colored hair back. "Of course you were. You cared so much. Moving away and all that."

"Benjamin." Mr. Barker's tone was stern.

"No one," Sweeney began with a single shake of his head. "calls me that anymore."

"I will," Mr. Barker said without a second thought, his hand reaching down to find Sweeney's hair and gently tousle it back the way it was. His gaze had been firmly locked across the dank street, but upon doing this, he glanced downward, staring at the black hair and white streak in dismayed silence.

Mr. Todd stifled a grimace. He somehow couldn't bring himself to tell the man to stop, but associating with someone who was so different from the last time he saw him felt very strange.

Little did he realize that Mr. Barker's thoughts weren't differing much to his.

"How did it get to be this way?" the older man asked, referring to the barber's odd hair.

Sweeney stared at the cobblestone, bleak. "I... can't remember the exact cause. I can recall all of it, and none. I was aghast."

Mr. Barker shook his head despairingly. "Had I known, Ben, I would've done something."

"I'd've rather it had been me than Lucy or Johanna, and it was." Mr. Todd clenched his fists. "The Judge had different plans for them..."

"The Judge?" Mr. Barker arched a brow.

"I killed him," Sweeney put forth immediately, as though saying something that, without a shadow of a doubt, _needed_ to be said.

"You killed...?" Mr. Barker seemed lost.

"The man who sent me away from London." Mr. Todd decided it'd be best to start with a few more obvious, given facts that he knew more by heart. "That's where I went, you know. Out of London."

"From London to where?"

"Australia," Sweeney supplied.

Mr. Barker didn't want to know what happened there, but a part of him felt violated himself at the idea of the younger man before him - his son - getting terrorized in a place so far away from home. His own flesh and blood, in every sense of the phrase.

A sudden thought occurred to him, and his hand found Mr. Todd's shoulder once more when he spoke again. "Is that streak a result of fear?"

Sweeney froze in place for a split few seconds. It felt like longer.

"I questioned as to whether or not it was possible," he murmured softly. "The first few white strands I found, I thought, were because of stress. That might've been." He heaved a sigh, feeling relieved when his father didn't have anything else to say. "We can continue this conversation some other time. It isn't something I favor as a topic for discussion."

"Of course," Mr. Barker loftily agreed.

He watched in dreary silence as his son stood up, not nearly as unstable as before, and passed him to walk for the front door.

Toby and Johanna were still watching, albeit a little more unoticably from their hiding place behind the door, with the small crack as their only way of seeing out. Sweeney took care to open said door gently, turning around on the spot to look at the two youngsters.

"'Y'needed a good vomit, then," Toby blurted, trying to sound bright. "What with all we've gone through."

Johanna narrowed her eyes; the only indication left remaining of the disgust she was trying to suppress.

Mr. Barker poked his head in, his eyes flying to meet the Demon Barber's. "I'll be heading home now, Mr. Todd."

Sweeney had to hold in a breath of relief that the older man didn't use his former name and make Johanna more confused than she already was. The last thing he wanted was for her to question his whereabouts too thoroughly.

He nodded his head, out of both agreement and gratitude, while an inner nagging within him made him feel queasy with worry about his father wandering the streets at night, and a new found guilt for snapping at him so harshly before.

"I thought you were staying here for dinner," Johanna spoke up, tilting her head to one side, and Sweeney could tell that she was a bit disappointed.

Mr. Barker looked to her apologetically. "Something I needed to get done had slipped my mind when I agreed to stay," he lied. "Maybe some other time?"

Mr. Todd could tell, despite lying about needing to leave, that Mr. Barker was being very sincere in promising to visit some other time.

Knowing what he knew now, he somehow didn't hate the notion as much as he would've before.

* * *

><p>"Who knew a prison out of use for so many years could have so much use to us right <em>now<em>?"

Luke turned around in a full circle with his hands held victoriously in the dead air, careful not to trip over any debris and fall. Patrick ducked into the huge hole in the wall with Cory trailing behind him, looking mildly surprised at where their walk ended up.

"Use?" he echoed, glancing up at the walls of the apparent cell made of stone. "In all my years at this work, Luke, I've never stumbled upon a place like this and thought it to be of use."

"I have a plan," Luke responded surely. "I wouldn't worry too much, Pat."

"Will I be let in on this plan?"

"Of course. I wouldn't leave you out of it if my life depended on it." The look Patrick gave him and the scorning way Cory rolled his eyes made Luke rethink his words.

"Well, maybe if my life depended on it, I'd leave you out of it..." He shook his head. "I can't think of an expression good enough."

Patrick stiffened when the younger boy put an arm around his shoulders, and he promptly brushed him off. "Please; Just because I'm associating my problems with yours doesn't mean you can touch me."

"I'd like to think about a blocked entrance, Snayote..." He scored the air with his hand in a flailing gesture. "We won't be hurting him, but-"

"Please, Luke," Patrick scoffed. "We share the same surname. Act your age."

"That's where everyone fails, Pat." Luke released a snort. "No one takes my words seriously."

"Did this serial killer not take your words seriously?"

"No, he didn't."

Patrick replied to this statement with a deafening silence. Then he went on to the previous subject. "Do carry on with your speech, cousin."

That seemed to be precisely what Luke was waiting for. He opened his mouth without hesitation and continued. "We're using that boy of his as bait."

"And I'm sure I'll learn of whatever the hell _that_ means in time," Patrick said, contempt dripping from every word.

"You will." Luke patted his shoulder. "Didn't I tell you not to worry?"

"Can you explain nice an' frank what we'll be doin'?" Cory prompted, crossing his arms.

Luke turned to face him, an open smirk on his face. He took a deep breath and began with, "Toby is his name. Don't be shy to use it when we snatch him up."

"How old is he?" Patrick's words were taut with caution.

"Eleven or... twelve. Somewhere around that age."

"That really _is_ kidnap, Luke." Cory rolled his eyes as Patrick spoke, but his companion didn't stop there. "All I want is to take out this so-called serial killer and get him off your back. I don't want to involve a child in this."

"Toby isn't _just_ a child," Luke snapped. "He's got that man's back. They're inseparable."

"He _is_ his son," Cory muttered halfheartedly.

Patrick merely nodded his agreement to his friend's statement.

"Even so," Luke went on. "Toby won't be the easiest target, and it isn't like Mr. Todd will simply let us take him away without putting up a fight of his own. We'll need to single the boy out and grab him when Todd isn't looking, and put some kind of knife or gun to his-"

"M-Mr. Todd?" Patrick interrupted.

Luke looked at him, exasperated. "That's the man's name. Sweeney Todd."

Cory arched a brow at Patrick, who shrunk back a little but made a motion with his hand for Luke to continue. And continue he did, ignoring his cousin's suspicious behavior.

"We'll be putting a weapon of some sort to Toby's head, warning Todd that if he takes another step closer, his boy'll be a goner."

"Eh. Then what?" Patrick meekly asked.

"We won't hurt the kid," Luke assured him. "We'll just be locking him away. And, well, if everything goes according to plan..." His head slowly turned to view the large hole in the wall, and his eyes drifting downward to eye the debris he just then remembered they were standing in the midst of. "Todd will end up here, and before he can leave.." His smirk grew wider, but he appeared to be rethinking what he was about to say. Instead, he placed a hand on Patrick's shoulder and gently nudged him toward the hole. "I don't know about you, Pat, but I think that gape is just the right size to be covered by a coach."

Cory still didn't seem to understand fully, and Patrick's growing look of alarm indicated that he was just beginning to.

"It'll work out wondrously," Luke chirped, strutting past the two of them and preparing to exit the old, half enclosed cell. "At least they'll be spending their last few days alive together."

* * *

><p>Johanna was glumly searching around in the bags she and Anthony had brought back from the market a day or so before he got attacked, looking for ingredients that would all go towards some relatively substantial meal. She barely noticed when Toby followed Mr. Todd into the parlor, a defiantly questioning look on his face.<p>

"The last time I saw you lookin' like that was when you-"

"Quiet, Toby," Sweeney hissed.

Toby still looked miffed. He wasn't scared like he used to be. Though, he did tone his voice down a little when he spoke. "Why is it that you're bothering to tell me anything, when your daughter's right in the other room? Wouldn't you rather share meaningful information with her?"

Mr. Todd just shook his head, unable to respond; news was reaching him in heaps. He could hardly keep up with all that he'd learned since that vivid night on Fleet Street, when he finally killed the Judge. Starting, of course, with the fact that the old beggar woman was in fact his Lucy all along.

Finding that Toby's eyes were still on him, he did a hasty shrug. "You've developed quite a mouth, boy."

Toby's expression changed from one of panicked sternness to a rather peculiar one that wasn't sure whether to smile or not. He eventually settled for a weak grin that would've passed for a grimace had the corners of his lips not curved up. "I know."

Sweeney sighed, not returning the look as he sometimes would. "I just realized that... Mr. Barker... is, as it turns out, my father."

Toby just looked at him for a few seconds to follow before releasing a breath of air that he seemed to be holding in. "Where... Where else has your family been, eh?"

Mr. Todd slowly crossed his arms, blinking a glare back into its rightful place. "Yours?"

"S-Sorry," Toby stuttered, casting a fairily hurt look down at his shoes. "I ain't tryin' to go into that... off-limits zone of yours. Jus' that how much more is there to your family? There ought to be tons I don't know."

"Why would you want to? My childhood wasn't all too different from yours. Except... I lived with my parents. Both of them." The smallest hint of a cringe was present on Sweeney's face, and as expected, Toby flinched at the statement.

"I didn't go off searching for some unrelated barber's daughter, either," Mr. Todd went on, a light grin that looked surprisingly natural stretching his lips. He put a firm hand on Toby's shoulder at these words, but Toby promptly brushed him off, hiding just how humored he really was.

"Well, there's one upside."

Sweeney closed his eyes and sat down on the sofa, his head in his hand. He wasn't in the conversation with Toby anymore, as far as he was concerned. His problems from before seemed to be coming back again. "I suppose it can't be too hard."

"To do what?" Toby sat down next to him.

"To tell Johanna the truth," he responded.

"About?"

Sweeney was opening his mouth to reply, but soon realized that the one-worded question didn't come from Toby, but rather from Johanna, who was standing in the doorway with a suspicious glare on her face.

* * *

><p><strong>This is <em>insane<em>. Yes. You read that right. Not this. I'm talking about the end of this chapter. xD**

**For some reason, the idea of Sweeney talking to his father (for we have no canon insight on his blood family) as he is after his return to London was an idea that really stood out in my mind for some reason. I think it's because the notion of him sharing a bond with someone who is actually older than he is isn't the most talked about topic in the whole fandom (Which might actually be some hidden reason for his smashing relationship with Elle Lovett in my other ST story, Deathly Inherit. It never really occurred to me before. Lol). I'm sure we can all agree that, after the things that he went through, Sweeney's character could safely be addressed as jaded, or even wise. That's often how I know I like to look at him. So that's why I thought bringing in a character who is even _more_ experienced than he is (without all the horrors. -.- ) would be an interesting concept.  
><strong>

**Sweeney's father's full name is Eric Barker, by the way, as seen in my ST Christmas story "The Eighth Razor" that I uploaded in December of 2011. :3  
><strong>

**This isn't legit information. I'm just saying, it's what I decided to call him. xD  
><strong>

**Oh! I nearly forgot: I'd honestly been mulling over your review for a while, Guest. I seriously didn't just pass off what you wrote as a thoughtless flame. I'm very much aware that the information on places or things that I fictionally write about might not be correct. I know that I could do more research and be more informed. The result of Sweeney's memories in Australia were, admittedly, an obsessive cross between _Holes_ and _Secret Window_. And believe me when I tell you that I, myself, look back on my past chapters and cringe. It's what I get for leaving such a gap in my process of finishing the story.  
><strong>

**On another note, Happy New Year, everyone! I hope you all had a fun night, if you celebrated at all. I don't know about you lot, but my family makes a pretty big deal out of it. :)  
><strong>


	21. The Coming of a Storm

**Oh, boy. I'm not even gonna try to shield myself from the rage this time. Hit me. Slap me. Pull my hair and punch me in the face.**

**I can't say this was all and entirely worth the eight month wait (at least, I _think_ it was eight months).**

**I will admit to and fill in all at the bottom. For now, read on.**

* * *

><p>Toby bolted up from where he was sitting, eyes wide. "N-Nothin'. <em>Absolutely<em> nothin'. Why would we keep somethin' from someone who..." His voice trailed off when Sweeney lifted up a hand, only continuing to leave the expectant girl in the doorway more clueless.

"Toby. Don't." Sweeney's voice was more calm and sobered than Toby had ever pictured (in all the times he'd envisioned this moment). He peered up at Johanna, his heart beginning its annoying, quick thumping that he had sworn time and time again to stifle. Fear wasn't something a man like him should've been able to feel, but, he supposed, it depended on the circumstances.

Johanna's eyes gradually became softer at the barber's deafening silence. It began dawning on her that the situation was that of some personal issue that no doubt involved her, as little as she knew; the look on Mr. Todd's face was evidence enough of his inner conflict. It was a look she realized she had been seeing from him since she first bumped into him and Toby on the street, and now, in the present, she mentally scolded herself for not piecing together the fact that it might've actually _meant_ something.

She started at a hesitant gait across the room. "Mr. Todd-"

"_Don't_ call me that," Sweeney interjected harshly. "You-you _shouldn't_ call me that. Ever."

"What do you propose I call you then?" she asked, exasperated.

When he didn't reply right away, Toby took the moment to add his own input. "I... call 'im _sir_ from time to time, if it helps..."

"Toby." Sweeney pinched the bridge of his nose.

Toby grudgingly propped his elbow up on the arm of the sofa and rested his cheek in the palm of his hand, rolling his eyes. "You shoot down everything I say..."

Mr. Todd narrowed his sable orbs at the young boy, nearly forgetting his daughter's presence in the room. "I don't."

Toby didn't reply. Just continued glaring off into space.

Sweeney stood up from the couch, disgarding Toby for the time being, and grabbed Johanna's hands in his own in a daring burst of courage before she could back away. They were no longer at a safe distance. Not in the slightest.

"I'm sorry," he first said, making Johanna arch a puzzled brow. "I should've told you this the very first night we spent here. I wasn't brave enough. Had you not overheard Toby and I a minute ago, I'd still be hiding the truth from you. I know this for a fact."

Johanna could only cock her head to the side in a lame gesture of still not getting at what the barber was trying to tell her.

Sweeney shrugged his shoulders discomfortably, silently cursing the Judge for the thousandth time already. "I'm your father."

Johanna registered this information with a stoic expression on her face. One that Toby couldn't help thinking she got from her one and only father when he spared another glance upward, unable to tell what Mr. Todd's face read.

Then, ever discreet in her actions, the yellow-haired girl unlocked her hands from Sweeney's and took a step back. She shook her head in mild disbelief and turned around on her heel, walking out of the room.

Toby let out a small puff of air that he'd been holding in, his lungs loosening up. Sweeney remained standing where he was, his shoulders sagging a bit.

That was that. Whether Johanna spoke to him again or not was a mystery in itself. Already, however, he felt a weight being lifted off him, and he somewhat regretted not telling his daughter this information sooner. It not only would've been better for her, but for him, too.

* * *

><p>Johanna turned a corner she nearly forgot was part of the house. She saw stairs, and she took them without question, not particularly minding the idea of a floor separating her from the barber at the moment.<p>

Was he... Was he _serious_?

This couldn't have been right. It simply couldn't have. It was ridiculous; if it _was_ true, then... why _now_? Why tell her now?

Mr. Todd's words echoed in her mind, however, making her grimace: _"I wasn't brave enough."_

Right when she thought this man couldn't confuse her more, there he went again. Toby was quite clearly in on it too, and Johanna couldn't help feeling a hint of new resentment for the young lad; perhaps it was related to Turpin in some shape or form, but she wasn't all that fond of things being _kept_ from her.

Stifling a groan (in what she was certain was her first flip out), Johanna wrenched her head from side to side, staring down the short hall that the stairs led up to. She hastily took a left and opened a random door that wasn't quite on the end, opening up to a barren room with wooden flooring and a window at the back. It let a soothing light in, no doubt from the moon.

She padded across the room and sat down on the cold floor, picking up her chin to sit more comfortably on the ledge.

It seemed the window was open just a crack, because Johanna could feel a draft and was faintly capable of smelling the chilling air that wasn't really the freshest scent.

_Oh, Antony. I cannot tell you how much I need you right now._

* * *

><p>Luke gave in to a large yawn. He was slumped against the very building he had means to trap the barber in, his head drooping. He had long gotten used to the cold, but Patrick, who was walking over with caution, wasn't quite the case.<p>

"Luke?" he tentatively asked, approaching the younger man and eventually kneeling down all together to get a closer look at his face.

Luke looked away, blinking drowsily. "What d'you want, Pat?"

"What do I want?" Patrick wanted a lot of things. The question was actually way grander of an opportunity to answer than Luke made it out to be, but Patrick opted for something a little kinder, before the boy started getting short with him. "I think, my cousin... I want you to rest."

Luke peered up at him, a challenging look sweeping across his features. "Why is that?"

"Because you look exhausted." Patrick blinked, having assumed it was obvious.

"Why would I want to break a streak?" Luke countered, almost agressively.

"Break a...?"

"Well, quite clearly, I've been awake for more than one hundred hours. I'd like to continue this. When the barber is dead, I will sleep."

Patrick rolled his eyes and sat down against the wall, beside his younger cousin. "You think yourself fearsome."

"I'd like to think so, yes," Luke responded. "I would _also_ like to think that it comes across when I speak, but you're making that somewhat harder to believe."

"With good reason." Patrick turned to face him, but Luke was already staring off at something else of interest on the other side of the street. "You're really clever, Luke. I'll give you that."

"But?"

"But," Patrick went on. "I can't quite give you the award for smarts."

Luke snorted. "Isn't cleverness and smarts the same thing?"

"On some levels. Not all, though."

"What's the difference?"

"Cleverness is the ability to outwit those who cross you who come with the intention of making you..." Patrick trailed off, leaving a small pause. Then he gave a grim smile and draped a hand on his cousin's shoulder. "...not alive."

Luke brushed him off with a snort. "Been there, done that, Pat."

"_Smarts_ is..." Patrick's smile faded, replaced with a look of realization. The realization that what he was about to say was what he knew Luke would not want to hear. "...when you know what's right, and 'y'do it." He moved his hand to the side of Luke's face and turned his head until their eyes were locked. "You... _know_ what's right, Luke. Go ahead an' do it."

"I _am_ doing what's right!" Luke snapped, grabbing Patrick's hand in a tight grip and wrenching it away from his face. "I expected you'd be proud! It's not even for me! Ain't that a plus?" He pushed up from the ground, standing with his fists clenched at his sides. "I saw that man slice someone's _throat_ open. An innocent someone."

"I get it," Patrick murmured. "It wasn't right... and I don't expect anyone to miss him once he's gone. It isn't your _place_ to _make_ him gone, Luke!" He stood up as well, making a grab for Luke's shoulders but failing to get a hold.

"Who's place is it? I don't think the role was assigned, Pat." Luke backed up out of Patrick's still reach. "_Nobody_ wants Sweeney Todd dead, because _nobody_ knows what he's done. If they did..." He put an idle hand over his mouth, taking a few ragged breaths of air.  
>"You're a good lad, Luke. <em>Please<em> just stay out of it."

"I'm a good lad because I'm choosing _not_ to stay out of it. Just wait, Patrick. Just _wait_."

"Wait? What for?"

"For his true colors to show. It will happen. I will _make _it happen."

* * *

><p>"Mr. Todd..."<p>

"Be silent."

"P-please... Just-just sto-stop. I'll... I'll do... _anything_."

"Anything, eh?"

_Scrap. Scrap. Scrap._

"Yes. It has certainly been a while, hasn't it, my friend?"

"Wh... What?"

"Shush. I am not _talking_ to you."

_Where does the light even come from anymore? There is no moon. No sun. No flickering candle. And yet... how you gleam..._

"Mr. Todd!" Another raspy breath. A sob.

"Don't speak. Not to me."

"Say _something_ to me! Don't... k-kill me... without saying... som-_something_."

"Silence kills, doesn't it?" Footsteps against wood. "Of _all_ the bizzarre places and cells and locations I was dragged, wherever it was, stone or sand or wood, Australia all the same... I never_ did_ get enough silence. I obviously didn't, I mean. It was what I was given whether I liked it or not. It made things harder to... remember."

"What... What are you...?"

"I remember. I do. But specific moments... Perhaps I fail to remember specific moments, where I was _spoken to_, because they were so seldom seen. That one time... I _knew_ I was in my cell... One of them... Because I was told..." Another wretched pause. "Well, what I was told doesn't matter. Never will. It will never matter. I have the upper hand. The upper hand holds my ever-so-faithful _friend_. You're here..."

"Mr. Todd, you're... not making any sense. _Please_. Stop. Please stop."

"This was what I was destined for. It's all so clear in my head. Those fifteen years... They happened for a reason..."

_No... What?! You _really_ aren't making sense. It was never wanted. Never. Oh, my Lucy... She was so lonely, and what are you going on about? Stop this. End this madness. Now!_

"Oh, Johanna... My little dove, my sweet. This will only hurt for a split, precious moment... Perhaps your suffering in this world will be over... _Oh_, what am I saying? Of course it will."

"Mr. Todd, _please_!"

"Now, now. I won't have any of that."

The creaking of leather followed these words, and a feminine, terrorized squeak to meet it.

"Sir?"

Now, _that_ was a new voice.

"Sir? What're you doing to her? She isn't-"

"Go downstairs, boy."

"No! Let 'er go!"

"Are we forgetting our place, Tobias?"

The mere flick of a wrist. The chime of a blade unsheathing, still hanging in the air even after it was gone. It was thrown without effort, and it met its unfortunate mark. Johanna was screaming again. The young boy's blood was running down the wall, and Sweeney Todd didn't care. He just _didn't_. Not at all.

"Now, for you..."

"Do-Don't. Please, _please_, don't!"

_Slash! Squelch!_

Johanna Barker was no more. The very moment crimson blood hit ashen skin, this was known, and this glorious feeling of power had been missed. So _very_ much.

"Mr. T?"

Mr. Todd bolted up from where he had been lying, his hands finding Toby's shoulders immediately. He breathed deeply through his nose, his heart pounding hysterically in his chest.

"Johanna. _Johanna_. Where is she?" he growled, tightening his grip on the young boy in front of him who had no doubt been trying to rouse him from sleep for a while.

Toby winced and looked away very briefly, one eye shut when he responded. "Up-upstairs, sir."

Sweeney let go, falling back again and pressing the back of his hand over his eyes. "Good... Good."

"Why?" Toby asked, still the slightest bit timid.

Sweeney felt a sense of relief settle in his chest, knowing he hadn't been murmuring in his sleep, let alone screaming. He could've sworn he had been. "No reason. It's just good."

Toby got up from where he had been knelt. "Happy knowin' you won't 'ave to face 'er for a while yet? Really, you probably won't. She'll need a few hours at best."

Sweeney passed him a glare, but the boy's back was already turned and leaving the room.

Oh... It was his fault for holding it off for so long, and Toby had no reason _not_ to speak to him like he always had. Well, not _always_, but all the same.

The only thing unknown left in the household was that Toby actually _had_ heard the barber with all the ruckus he was making while he was asleep, though he figured it'd be best not to tell him so. How else would he have known to come inside from the porch to investigate?

Toby often thought the barber did a poor job at covering up his emotions. At least, the ones that counted more than anger. He didn't understand the real reasoning for why Mr. Todd was doing it, which made things all the more frustrating.

He left the house again, standing on the porch and watching the street like he was waiting for something. He didn't know Mr. Todd was a few steps behind him, following him out. He only knew when he heard the creaking of old wood, and the soft sound of breathing.

"Don't know why you went and made it all so subtle," he stated, bitter, not taking his eyes off the street. "Wasn't like this whole big mess was your fault."

"It was... thrust upon me, this mess," Sweeney responded, quiet. "It doesn't keep others from being afraid, Toby. Something I have to live with. If Johanna wants nothing to do with me after this is over, I won't be surprised in the least bit."

"_I'm _not afraid," Toby muttered.

"Did I say 'others'?" the barber inquired, his eyes flashing. "I meant those who leave me no time to explain. The ones who run away."

"Johanna did that, just now."

"So did you."

Toby's heart lurched. "Right."

"The Judge sent me away. It was a perfect chance, whether I'd find my way back again or not. I could stay in Australia and rot, or I could come home and, still, never be the same. I picked the latter."

"You didn't pick it. Not the bit about... never bein' the same, but..."

"I've got no choice but to face that. Being home - not being _there_ - is best, isn't it?"

Toby didn't reply. He left a pause, and therefore left the frown on Sweeney's face where it was. He eventually did speak, low and unsure, more so than Mr. Todd had ever heard from him. "Just... explain it to her like you did me. In time. Make 'er feel... how wrong it was. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't..." He trailed off.

Sweeney looked away, too tired to heave a sigh. He looked in the opposite direction in which Toby was facing and couldn't help but feel as though something was on the rise. Just around the corner. Leaving him time to duck if he wanted to. It wasn't good.

He began to wonder silently if Toby could sense it, too.

* * *

><p><strong>NOW...<strong>

**Don't worry. This isn't story time like it usually is. I'm just going to try explaining why I haven't posted chapters at all since February.**

**This chapter has actually been done for a little while now. A little while, as in, perhaps, a month? What I was hoping to do was get a few chapters done and _then_ start posting them. But when nothing was coming to me for the next chapter, I decided to just post this finished one here (that, like I said, isn't even that good).**

**November is going to be a HUGE month for me. A big, perfect, exciting, juicy month. I've moved onto other fandoms, and while I'll never completely leave this one in the dust, I would like the focus on those others for a while. Which is what brings me to the pressing question, that is admittedly more aimed towards the people who have been waiting (if you guys are even still there) rather than anyone who has just started...**

**Do you _want_ to see the next chapter up soon? If you do, please tell me. I'll strive to get to work on it. I think I forgot what the push and shove of a good review could do for a writer, given the fact that I haven't posted anything practically all year. It's been horrible. It's made my stomach churn. I feel like I'm breaking some kind of promise to you guys. But the inspiration for this story hasn't exactly been there like it used to be back in 2011, and it's not keeping me as interested in result. I also feel, naggingly, that laziness has something to do with it. I've been doing a little too much watching and thinking and not enough writing.**

**If no one cares, it's more like a personal goal type thing. I'd like to finish this story. But I have so many new ideas for stories with other movies and such, and it's insanely hard to concentrate on this. **

**So, if you want to see this story finished, let me know. At least I'll know for sure if it's wanted immediately.**


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